Elemental
by xenokattz
Summary: Someone is after the Summers brothers. The bad news is they've already succeeded in taking Adam. The worse news is that Scott, Remy, and Alex have to work together to save him. And you thought the Brady Bunch was dysfunctional.
1. PART I, JUNE: Most Roads Lead Home

**PART I: JUNE**

**Most Roads Lead Home**

* * *

Sunshine left Xavier's Institute the day Jean Grey died. Heavy rain drowned out any hint of summer time. Rogue would have chalked it up to Ms. Munro except that it had been three months and a bit since that horrible day in Canada. Ms. Munro was powerful but not that powerful. At least, Rogue didn't think so. 

"If it rains any more, we're going to have to build an ark," said Piotr, glancing up from his physics textbook to trace patterns on the glass.

"Does ark building involve physics?" Rogue asked him.

Piotr smiled. "Yes."

"Fabulous."

The second floor study was empty except for the two of them. The gloomy weather drove everyone else downstairs to watch movies, play foozball, make cookies-- anything but dwell on the depressing atmosphere. The only reason she and Piotr closeted themselves in the room was because Rogue desperately needed help with her physics homework and Piotr was the only one who had the patience to explain everything coherently.

"I'm so sick of this!" said Rogue, throwing her pencil down. "I understand the concepts. I know how to solve the formulas. But when I try these stupid, freakin' questions, I never seem to use the right formulas in the right freakin' order. Why did I take the danged class anyway?"

"Because you want to blow Frank Gehry and Franklin Lloyd Wright straight out of the water," said Piotr in that deep, mellow voice of his.

"Won't I have underlings to think about that? I want to be an architect not an engineer; I'm just supposed to spontaneously come up with genius designs."

The corners of Piotr's mouth lifted. "Yes, and I just pop acid to paint. We all have to take some good with the bad."

"Isn't the saying 'take some bad with the good?'" Rogue said.

"I'm Russian. We're genetically pessimistic."

Rogue threw a kernel of her eraser at him. "That's not what I want to hear from my tutor."

Brushing the bit of white rubber from his black hair, Piotr said, "At least if you expect the worse, the mediocre becomes awesome."

"Keep it coming, Buns-o-Steel. I got a big eraser."

"You're just stalling."

"Damn straight. If I have to figure out the relationship between tickertape and the angle of the incline one more time, I'm going to completely--" Rogue broke off, seeing Piotr's attention dart to her left. Placing a finger over his lips, he gestured to the window beside the table.

Slowly, Rogue turned her head. White-tipped fingers grasped the window ledge, a ledge that just barely covered a shaggy head of hair. As she stood to get a better look, another hand reached up over the ledge, holding several little tools. They looked like they could be related to dental equipment.

Piotr and Rogue exchanged glances. Piotr shrugged and, casually, went metallic.

The climber had braced one arm on the ledge now. His head popped up, hair plastered to his face, and he grinned, wiggling his fingers at them. The two students stepped back, surprised, going into a ready stance. There was something naggingly familiar about his features-- his cheekbones or jawline-- but Rogue couldn't quite put her finger on it. His shades threw her off.

"Uh, Pete?" Rogue eased her textbook and binder to one side. "Should we do anything?"

"There's a man with lock picks climbing up our house," said Piotr. "I definitely think we should do something."

"Like attack?"

"I was thinking of calling one of the teachers," said Piotr.

"You do it," Rogue said quickly.

Piotr's brows rose. "Are you sure? It would make more sense if I stayed behind; he could have a gun."

Smirking, Rogue said, "It'll take him at least five minutes to pick the lock and divert the alarms on that window. You'd've gotten some of the teachers up here by then." When Piotr still looked doubtful, she added, "Five minutes and counting, Buns."

She let out a small sigh when he finally turned on his heel and ran out of the room. Piotr looked as though he would have questioned her knowledge on lock-picking and Rogue didn't know how she would have replied. No one except Logan and the Professor knew about her mutation's little mental side-effect.

Rogue knocked on the window. The guy looked up; the tip of his tongue peeked out between his lips in concentration.

"We're calling the police," she said loudly.

The guy smiled again and continued to fiddle with something under the ledge. Rogue put her books away-- if this was going to turn ugly, she didn't want her homework damaged to top it all off-- and continued to watch the would-be burglar.

Her indifference melted away when he pulled out a small drill and waved it at her, mouthing a retort. Rogue couldn't quite hear him but the expression on his face was enough of a hint.

"You are one cocky sonuvabitch," she said, trying to tamp down that part of her that admired his ballsiness.

The guy bored a small hole in the window, less than a quarter inch in diameter. Quickly tucking the drill away, he inserted a small tool in the hole with a tiny blade at the tip. Angling the tool just so, he jabbed the window sill, twisted and pulled, cutting a wire that Rogue hadn't even realized was there. What a great time for the Voices to stay quiet.

She backed away from the window, tensed for a fight even as Cyclops' instructions screamed at her to get out of the room and get help.

The window creaked open-- a mere hook-latch was nothing after disabling a window-foil alarm from the outside. The burglar shoved the lower pane up then, amazingly, lowered himself until only his fingers were visible again, gripping the ends of the ledge.

_Now!_ Rogue's mind hollered. _Get help now!_

She half-twisted for the door.

In one quick, smooth move, the burglar lifted himself back up over the ledge and jackknifed feet-first through the window. His feet found purchase on the edge of the table-- she shouldn't have cleared the mess, her subconscious admonished-- and using that for traction, he curled his body up and over into a perfect shoulder roll. Water droplets flew everywhere.

What Rogue did next was entirely her fault.

As the burglar came up from his roll, she kicked out with toe pointed, exactly how Cyclops taught her not to kick. The pointy tip of her stylish pumps caught on his collar so that when he reflexively dove away from the kick, he dragged her with him.

Rogue's knees hit the carpeted floor with a muffled thunk. Her next move was less amateurish, as her training--or mind-Logan-- took over. She slammed her forearm against his throat and, after hearing him gag in a very satisfying manner, grabbed his hair. She gave that handful of damp brown hair as vicious a yank as she could muster.

"Yow!" He pushed her away but she still had his hair in her fist. Frantically, he reached for her forearm. "Let go my hair, girl!"

"Not a chance in hell," said Rogue. She was trying to figure out how to get out of his reach and still inflict pain. "You're stayin' right here until our teachers come and then, you'll be in such shit."

His struggles eased. "What, they gonna give me KP duty for a month?"

Rogue smirked. "You're in a world of hurt an' you don't even know it."

"I think I know more than you can guess, girl."

"Stop calling me girl!"

"Whatever you say, sweetie-pie."

Rogue squawked.

"Princess? Shorty? Honeybuns?" He grunted, pulling his body into a more comfortable position. "Throw me a freakin' bone here, sugar."

"That is completely disgusting," said Rogue. "You're not only a bad thief, you're a dirty old man."

He frowned. "Hey, now you're being mean. I ain't a bad thief."

Cyclops' voice cut in. "But you're definitely a dirty old man." He stood at the door, arms crossed, his mouth bracketed by frown lines that were deeper than they'd ever been when school first started. Piotr stood behind him, less aggressive although he was still in metal form.

Rogue looked up, relieved. "I managed to subdue him, Mr. Sum-- I mean, Cyc--uh…"

"Rogue, Piotr, go downstairs and alert the professor," her teacher said. "I'll take care of this guy."

Puzzled by his unusual curtness, Rogue nevertheless scurried out the door after Piotr. Scott blocked the door again as soon as she slipped through.

The burglar got on his feet, still smirking despite the fact that he was rubbing his throat.

"You'll take care of nothing," he said. "Bad enough this place has more handholds than a cabinet factory, your alarm system is completely craptastic."

"Well, you were the one who set it up," said Scott.

"Ever heard of upgrades?"

"Ever heard of doorbells?" Scott shot back. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "What are you doing here, Remy?"

"What, I can't drop in and say hello to my favourite baby brother?" Remy shook his head sadly. "Youth these days; they squander family ties like so much gum wrapper."

"_I'm_ older than _you_," said Scott.

"That has yet to be proven. For all anybody knows, I'm an extremely youthful forty year-old."

"Remy, please, I've got marking to get back to and another class to prep for. Make this quick."

The smile leeched out of Remy's face. He ran his hands through his hair, leaving half of the shaggy locks standing straight up. Scott allowed himself a smile; Remy's hair had always been a bane to his vanity.

"We need you to come home," said Remy abruptly. "Adam's missing again."

* * *

Excused from the impromptu introduction in Professor Xavier's office, Ororo, Hank, and Kelly St. Anna, the newly-hired junior history teacher, headed for the staff kitchen to muse things over. Logan set off in the opposite direction muttering about piping in the pool annex while Kurt Wagner teleported to... well, wherever he wanted on the grounds. 

After the incident at Striker's base, enrolment boomed. To be honest, Ororo thought the opposite would happen-- that the children's parents would take them away in fear of other attacks and that other families would go into hiding. In fact, some parents did withdraw their children from the school but many more replaced them. Testing at Xavier's increased eighty-five percent from last year and of the number tested, almost a third stayed in the school. Storm supposed the rest of the children had minor mutations that lent itself well to distance education.

The professor found the influx encouraging; he said it was a sign of acceptance that he never would have seen five years ago. He had other concerns, mainly to do with staff. Four teachers adequately met the needs of forty-eight students. A hundred and fifty was a bit much. Besides adding to the five core permanent staff-- Ororo, Hank, Scott, Kelly, and Xavier himself-- Scott suggested a permanent cook since the school's licensing didn't qualify it for the state's cafeteria program or the mobile kitchen programs. The fall enrolment also called for a permanent school nurse and a secretary. At the moment, Logan acted as the groundskeeper but he hadn't indicated how long he would stay on.

"I don't remember Scott ever talking about his brothers to a great extent," Ororo said.

"The Summers brood exemplify the adage 'absence makes the heart grow fonder,'" said Hank McCoy, the senior Biology and Literature instructor. "The tales I could tell of our founding days. It would make your skin crawl."

"Were they that bad with each other?" asked Kelly.

Hank only shuddered delicately in reply.

"You're one of the infamous five, huh?" Kelly snagged the closest bar-stool and clambered on top. "Tell all. Scott used to mumble about 'The Bavarian Hamster Incident' back in college."

"Yes, I've heard about that too," said Ororo.

"There are some things in life that are not meant to be revealed," said Hank, bowing. "Consider that one of them." His colleagues groaned but Hank was adamant. "Ask me anything else. The hamster, whether or not it was Bavarian, will have to remain a mystery."

"Tell us about Scott and his brothers, then," Ororo said promptly. "Why was Remy not in your original five? Isn't he only a year younger than Scott?"

"Less than," said Hank. "Remy chose not to enrol in the school. Not only was he born with a physical mutation-- his eyes are sensitive to the infrared spectrum-- but his powers manifested unusually early. I'd love to run a few tests on his vision one day if only I could keep him still for longer than five minutes. Perhaps if I bait a cage with a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of Dr. Pepper... but I digress. Control came to him much easier than Scott."

"Why?" asked Kelly.

"Apparently, Scott had been in a car accident as a child," replied Hank. "While his mutation was latent, the brain damage he sustained did not affect his every day skills. Unfortunately, that very section is needed to control his optic blasts."

"That's such a shame," said Kelly. "He's way too young to be burdened like that."

Ororo nodded but said nothing. Only when it came up in casual conversation did she remember that society viewed Scott as handicapped.

"So it's just Scott and Remy?" Kelly said.

Hank shook his head. "No, no, no, that would be too easy. Nature, in its perversity, created four Summers. Scott, Remy, Alex, and Adam. I believe Alex is in Hawai'i studying volcanic rocks and Adam is in the home perch of San Diego. Last I heard of Remy, he was in Louisiana. You will notice that while they are all still in the United States, they have spread themselves as far apart as possible."

"They hate each other that much?" Having no living relatives, Ororo found the idea distressing.

"Hate is so strong a word," said Hank. "Rather, let us call it a healthy respect for personal space. Perhaps even magnetic repulsion. You've heard of the Aristotelian theory of the four humours-- melancholics, phegmatics, cholerics, and sanguines? Or perhaps the four cardinal directions? The four elements? "

"I think I get the idea," said Kelly. "I think it'll kind of nice to have him around. Scott's looking more animated than I've ever seen him."

"True," said Ororo. "Warren will be visiting soon as well. Scott will have all those near and dear to him then." She drew a wicker basket filled with tea bags from one of the cabinets

Horror effused Hank's face. "Oh, my stars and garters, I'd completely forgotten about Warren." He plucked it from Ororo's fingers and shoved a beige ceramic container with the word "Coffee" emblazoned on its circumference in large, raised black lettering.

"You'll need this," he said. Then his forehead wrinkled and he added, "We'll all need it."

* * *

One wing away in the headmaster's office, two of the Summers brothers sat before Xavier, one a long-time pupil, another a long-ago drop-out. 

Remy never found Xavier's office as relaxing as Scott seemed to. There were too many distractions-- huge diamond-grilled windows looking out into a weary Italian garden, shelves over-flowing with thick leather-bound tomes, mahogany and oak furnishings with better pedigrees than most of the occupants in this building. Even the fireplace seemed to crackle richly in its Italian marble surroundings. His fingers ached to fondle the treasures and his mind kept calculating their resale prices.

"I'm very pleased to have you visit us," Xavier said, pouring tea from-- Remy's lungs double-clutched-- a Sevres tea set. "It's been too long."

"Y'know how it is when business is good, Professor," said Remy, accepted his cup. He was holding a cup from a Sevres tea set. From the pattern, he'd guess it was from the 1790s. He wondered how quickly he could drain it so he could look at the stamp underneath.

There was a twinkle in Xavier's eye that made Remy think the older man had skimmed that particular thought from his head. Indeed, when Xavier poured Scott's cup, he tilted the pot just enough that Remy saw the factory mark embossed on the base.

Jesus, he was growing a hard-on right fucking now.

"I'm glad that the market for antiques has grown again," Xavier said. "Although I must confess a weakness for Bauhaus rather than Louis XVIII."

"Whuh?" was all Remy could come up with.

"Give it up, Professor," said Scott. "It's hard enough to get a full sentence out of Remy when all his gears are working. This long after lunch with all your family heirlooms around, he can barely remember his name."

Remy flicked a charged sugar cube at him which Scott caught unerringly and zapped into oblivion.

Allowing himself one last Neanderthal snort, Remy pulled on his business persona. "I was about to say, Professor, that the market is currently booming. Recent events as well as the continuing economic trend towards globalisation and robotics that're making people nostalgic for their traditional roots and Scotty, if you clap, I swear I'm going to beat you with your own glasses."

"I can't express admiration at your ability to memorize?" Scott asked. "Last time you came, you were still working on reading three-syllable words."

"Professor, Scott's bugging me."

Xavier sipped his tea, presumably to hide a chuckle. When he lowered his cup, he was all business. "So, how long do you think Scott needs a leave of absence?"

Scott put his cup down. "Sir, you know Adam's a professional runaway. He's probably sulking in one of his friends' basements because Dad took his Mustang away."

Shaking his head, Remy said, "Actually Pops bought him a Land Rover last Christmas."

"Fantastic," said Scott, deadpan. "Where the hell did Dad get the money to buy a Land Rover? Did you lend him money again?"

"Do I look that braindead?" When Scott's expression didn't change, Remy threw his hands up. "No, I did _not_ lend him any money. I got better things to do with my hard-earned cash than watch Adam and Pops burn it on bad car mods and the latest combination mp3-DVD-blender-toaster-wide screen TV."

"I'm glad you finally learned your lesson after the first five times," said Scott.

"You think I would've left New Orleans if it was like the other times?" Remy demanded. "Adam's been gone for four weeks, Scott. His friends haven't seen him--"

"They always say that."

"--and none of his theatre buddies have either. Believe me, no actor on Earth would've turned down my bribes."

"I believe you," said Xavier.

Scott looked nonplussed. "Professor, we'll play right into his hands if I go."

"I know that, too." He leaned back on his chair. "Perhaps Adam did run away for attention again but what if this time, he encountered real danger? No, I think it would be best if we looked into this matter."

Resigned, Scott sighed. "Whatever you say, sir."

"However," Xavier said before Remy's grin could fully form. "I also believe that we are better equipped to find Adam here than if you two were to return to San Diego this instant. Let me ask my connections, Remy. You may stay and supervise if you'd like."

"I'd like," said Remy firmly. "It'll give me a chance to update your security system. Did Scott tell you it was craptastic?"

"He mentioned something along those lines."


	2. Past Interlude, Westchester, NY, 1995

**Past Interlude #1: ****Westchester, New York - 1995**

* * *

Every time they met, Chris Summers made Moira's hair stand on end. She'd be damned if the man wasn't an empath. She'd asked Charles to do a scan but the results were negative. Near the top of Moira's hit list were the swaggering stance, the devil-may-care grin, and the half-lidded eyes that carefully hid intelligence but, again, those were only the ones at the top of the list. She could name a thousand more reasons for her aversion but unfortunately, she didn't have a pen and paper handy. 

_Moira, attempt to be civil._

_I'm always civil, Charles._

_I meant mentally civil. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to maintain my composure when you're muttering in the background?_

Moira only inclined her head neutrally as she opened the door to Charles' office. Chris Summers turned around from his study of the leather-bound volumes on the wall. That blasted grin popped onto his face.

"It's good to see you again, Captain Summers." Moira leaned forward slightly and the two shook hands.

"Same here, Professor." Chris shook Charles' hand as well. "Thanks so much for helping out with the tickets. I didn't want to leave the boys by themselves but with Scott's problem..." He wagged his head, hands fiddling for something to hold.

"It was an emergency and an understandable one," said Charles. "But the thanks must go to a friend who lent us the plane."

Chris whistled around a smile. "You got friends in high places, Professor."

The corner of Moira's mouth tipped up. "Charles is an expert at networking."

Charles only nodded in acknowledgement. "Well, then. Let's meet your boys. I'm sure they've had their fill from the kitchen and are chomping at the bit to explore the grounds."

"Something like that." Chris fell in step with Charles' wheelchair. Moira strolled at Charles' right, hands tucked into her cardigan. "I gotta tell ya, Professors, it's right exhausting looking after four boys. You'd think it gets easier after the second one but no, they come up with new brands of trouble every year."

_Perhaps if you didn't feel the need to breed with every woman that crossed your path_

_Moira!_ Charles worked to keep his expression bland. "You have four sons now?"

"Yessir." He beamed. He honestly loved his kids; Moira had to give him that. "Scott and Remy are seventeen now, as you know. Alex is fourteen and Adam's seven."

_Dear heavenly Father, does the man have super-charged Y chromosomes?_

_Moira, please._

_What are the odds, Charles? Do you suppose there are three undiscovered daughters running about for every son? Imagine: an entire country single-handedly populated by this man._

"And how is Remy?" asked Charles, his desperation colouring nothing but his mental voice. "He is no longer having problems?"

"Problems? Hah!" Chris slapped his thigh. Moira's teeth clenched as she added "thigh-slapping" to her list of Annoying Summers Habits. "The things he can do with that gift of his. I heard he's been trying to cook things by charging it."

"Heard?" said Moira quietly. "Has he not shown it to ye himself?"

Chris's lips tightened and his face went cold. "He shows me experiments that work out, Ms. MacTaggart. If you're insinuating anything about how I raise my boys--"

"She is doing no such thing," said Charles, ever the peace-maker. "We are too used closely observing the majority of our students' progress, that's all."

"Of course," murmured Moira.

"Well, the boys are doing great," Chris bit out. "Remy's eyes don't bother him any more and neither does his power. As soon as you can give us me some exercises with Scott like you did with Remy, we'll be out of your hair."

_Promise?_

_Moira, your undue dislike for Capt. Summers is becoming too obvious._

_Where does it say that I must like all the students' parents?_

_My dear no-one can claim to be a perfect parent._

The Summers brood sat uncharacteristically quiet in the patio. Sandwiches, lemonade, and brownies sat untouched on the low table beside the scroll-backed bench. The youngest-- a tow-headed moppet with big brown eyes-- curled just inches from a scrawny, dark-haired youth with a bandage knotted tightly around his eyes and fear stiffening his posture. Another boy, also dark-haired, pressed against the other side of the bench, his cigarette blowing ashes on a deck of cards. Standing farthest was another blond, this one just stepping out of childhood, his cheeks still rounded but with a sturdy frame and large hands.

At the adults' approach, the boy with the bandage angled his head slightly, searching.

"Hello, Scott," Xavier said. "Remy, Alex, it's good to see you again. And you must be Adam." The little one nodded, sitting up. "How did you like your plane-ride, Adam?"

"It wasn't as noisy as Daddy's plane," he answered. "But Daddy gots more jets on his plane and it goes lots faster but it don't gots any chairs like yours. Why do you have a funny chair?"

"Because my legs don't work," said Charles, delighted by the little one's candor.

"I bet you could if you really tried." He hopped off the bench. "I want to try it."

"Adam," Scott admonished. "Sir, I'm sorry. I'll keep a hold of him."

"It's nothing, Scott," Charles said. "However, I have a feeling that you would rather we get right down to business."

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble, sir."

Remy yanked at Alex's arm so they could get out of the way. He shrugged it off, walking to Chris' side by himself while Remy flicked his cigarette away and gathered the squirming Adam.

With everyone a safe ten feet away, Charles said, "Take off the bandage and we'll see what we can do."

Scott yanked the knot off. A swath of red streamed from his eyes and, within seconds, two north-eastern acres were cleared of all trees, bushes and lilting buildings.


	3. The Brother I Chose

**The Brother I Chose**

* * *

Warren wanted to strip off his shirt and free his wings as soon as his car rolled into the school driveway. "Just leave my luggage here and head back to the City," he told his chauffer. "I'll call you when I need to get picked up again." 

"Yes, sir." The chauffer tapped her hat and popped the trunk open. A few people snidely remarked on Warren's insistence on a uniform for his two drivers. This particular driver didn't mind; the job paid well and the uniforms hid the fact that she had patterned scales from the neck down. She lifted the luggage out of the Bentley's trunk as easily as though they were pillows.

Warren rang the doorbell, loosening his tie with one hand. His heart beat out a countdown to freedom. _One-get-it-off, two-get-it-off, three-get-it-off..._

He pressed the doorbell again, keeping his finger down longer.

The door swung open a second later. "Jesus Christ on a crutch, man, keep your shorts on. There's classes going on in here."

"Oh, no." Warren's good mood deflated.

"Oh, fuck," said Remy, just as displeased. He shut the door in Warren's face and walked away, completely ignoring the fact that the new visitor was yelling as he repeatedly rang the doorbell.

"So the battle begins." Hank peeked out his classroom to see what the fuss was about. "Pay attention, children; World War VII is about to break out and I want a five-page essay on the causes and effects by the seventeenth of July."

_Henry_, the professor's voice floated into Hank's mind, stern but with streaks of amusement and weariness. _Please lead Remy and Warren into my office._

_Did your class end early, sir?_

_No_, he replied. _But it will do those two good to cool their heels in the waiting room._

Hank beamed at the thought.

_And Henry_?

_Yes, sir?_

_It might be a good idea to remove the Malaysian hunting knives that are displayed on the coffee table. Just in case._

* * *

In the end, Scott left his class in Hank's care while he took a fuming Warren up to the third floor guest rooms. 

"What the hell is Remy doing here?" Warren asked, stomping up the stairs. "Actually, y'know what? I don't want to know. And you don't want to know either."

"I don't?" Scott said, hitching Warren's garment bag higher over his shoulder.

"No, you don't. The last thing you need right now are those blood-sucking parasites hanging off your neck."

"Nice imagery."

"I'm serious, Scott." Warren dropped his suitcase to grab Scott's shoulder. "Last time I heard from you Adam had just gotten suspended for having weed in his locker."

"It wasn't really weed," said Scott. "It was basil."

"Whatever. The point is you said that it was the last time you were going to go down there and fix their mess."

"Well, yeah."

"And remember that time you had to talk to the registrar at Alex's university because he'd forgotten to pay for his tuition for the third time since he enrolled?"

"Alex is a bit absent-minded when it comes to finances." Scott shifted the garment bag again. This flight of stairs seemed to get longer and longer each month.

"Hell, where do I even start with Remy?" Warren snorted. "The guy's antique business is barely on this side of legal and you're not helping matters by giving him law tips. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind lending _you_ the corporate lawyers but your brother's dealings is something else."

"Call it giddiness that one of them is actually earning money," said Scott.

Warren rolled his eyes. "First a 'security business' then an 'antiques business.' Is it just me or do all of Remy's businesses have something to do with his lock-picking hobby? Scott, you've been fixing their mess since you were twelve. You deserve a break. Let them solve their own problems for once. Or, hey, here's a better idea," Warren grinned evilly, "Let your dad actually be a dad for once and take care of it."

"I'm afraid my dad's a terminal case." Scott muttered. He sighed as he kicked the door open to Warren's usual room.

Warren threw his suitcase on top of his bed. "Your loyalty to them is great, Scott, really it is but what's the pay off for you? You've always helped them out and they never reciprocate; they just keep leeching off of you."

Scott opened the closet and hung Warren's garment bag on the hanger rod. "It's no big deal; I'm used to the cycle. Adam whines, Dad disappears, Remy begs for favours, and Alex screams that the whole world is unfair. If it all stops one day, the world would end."

"My point is--" Warren grasped Scott's shoulders, "--you shouldn't have to deal with them. Not right now. Not after... what happened... to Jean."

"Not after Jean's death," Scott said bluntly. His jaw hardened. "Don't worry, Warren. I can handle that too."

_That went real well, Worthington_. Prudently, Warren chose to retreat from the topic. He shrugged off his coat with a groan. "Help me get this damned harness off, will you? I just want to stretch them out before I go back downstairs."

Tension eased from Scott's face. "You're back in the school; just keep the harness off for the rest of your visit." He helped his friend pull off the coat and set to uncurling Warren's wings from their cramped position.

"Walking around without my shirt on in front of thirty kids. Great idea, Summers. That'll go over great with the board of directors not to mention my own sense of dignity. You vastly over-rate my exhibitionist tendencies."

"I'm not the one who got caught making out with Paris Hilton."

"For your information, _she_ threw herself at _me_. I was just making sure she didn't hurt herself on that dance floor. Oh, Christ, that feels good."

Joints popped and creaked as Warren slowly stretched one wing out then the other. His wingspan was such that he could only extend one limb at a time. From the tips of his longest primary feathers, his wings measured twenty-four feet and generated a small gale when he took off at a flat stop.

Letting his head hang, Warren shook the wings out in a series of quick metacarpal flourishes that Scott could best compare to playing the scales on a piano. His wing bones were more avian than mammalian-- large humorous bones, elongated radii and ulnae but with unfused metacarpals that, Hank surmised, allowed Warren more control over his flight patterns. The slight difference also allowed him to tuck and curl them in such a way that he was able to wear the harness with little discomfort. His back and pectorals were slabs upon slabs of muscle, created in his early teens and developed ever since to lift his weight in the air. The rest of Warren's bones also changed as a result of his mutation, becoming more hollow. Warren landed badly once while he was still learning to fly but instead of breaking, his leg bone seemed to bend. All he suffered were a few torn ligaments.

"Take it easy," said Scott, pulling Warren's right wing out as far as it could reach. "Wait until you get blood back into them."

"I had to get a new set made and I still haven't broken it in. Do you have any idea how much new leather chafes in this type of weather?" Warren shook his wings again, the harness finally dropping to the floor. Feathers fluttered down, some of them slightly crooked. "Grab the other wing, will you? Thanks."

Scott moved to the opposite side of the room to pull on the left wing. More joints popped like corn kernels in a hot pot. "That sounds really disgusting."

"I'm getting old, Summers. I can't do things like wear shiny shirts and hang fuzzy dice from my rearview mirror."

"Or catch flashy socialites."

Shaking his head, Warren said, "No, no, no, Scott. One does not catch flashy socialites. One stands in the middle of a crowded soiree and waits for the socialites to come flying in, diamonds winking and pre-nups still hot from the printers. So, really, you're never too old. Just too poor."

Scott crooked one eyebrow. "Very funny, Worthington."

"You went to Yale. You tell me I'm lying and I'll tell you that you were stuck in those books for way too long."

"I plead the fifth. Hey!" Scott sputtered as Warren shoved him away with his wings. "Preen before you wave those things around; they smell."

Warren flapped his wings lazily, simply enjoying the feel of air ruffling his feathers. "They'll be cramped back up in the harness for dinner; cut me some slack."

"I told you that you can leave them untied around here."

"And I told you that I don't want to prance around topless in front of a bunch of teenagers."

"You won't have to." At Warren's inquiring expression, Scott explained, "Jean adjusted a few of the shirts you left behind."

"Adjusted them how?"

Reaching into the closet, Scott pulled out a blue striped shirt and flipped it around. The dress shirt now had two extra slits down the back barely visible as a result of the stripes. "Just shrug them on, slide your wings through, and snap the buttons up. Dignity spared."

"Jean cut up my Versace shirts." Smiling to himself, Warren said, "God, I love that woman."

Scott's smile went crooked. "Get in line."

"Ah, hell, Summers." Warren gathered Scott up in a tight embrace, wrapping his wings around the both of them, keeping the world at bay with a wall of white down even for just five minutes.

* * *

The American Lit class gawked as they filed past Remy and Warren. Not only did the air surrounding them crackle with violence, they were, in Jubilee's words, "Hottie McHottersons." Warren with his wheat-blonde hair tamed, sleek and swept back, his great white wings stretching and shifting, pulling the striped shirt taut against his muscled torso. Remy, on the other hand, lounged catlike on a chair, his ripped jeans, faded T-shirt, and scuffed biker boots clashing with the furnishings. His very indolence was an insult to Warren's agitation. 

"Keep on posing, Fabio; maybe one of those kids will pop into your backseat." Remy picked his teeth, flicking his nails roughly in Warren's direction. "Be like the old times in your prep school with those mad roofie parties and peeking into the teacher's porn collection."

Warren sent him a look that should have been able to wither plants. "I'm not going to sink to your level, so don't even start."

"Boy, you only wish you could converse on my level."

"Sorry, I really don't care to stick my head that far up my ass."

"It'd be hard considering you already got a stick shoved up there."

"Gentlemen," Xavier called out sharply. "Please come in. And close the door behind you, Warren."

"Sure thing, Professor."

Remy swung his feet down, lolling his tongue and panting like an over-grown terrier.

"Remy, could you refrain from delivering any more witticisms?" said Xavier. He quickly turned to Warren who wasn't bothering to hide his sneer. "Don't forget that I've called you in this meeting as well, Warren."

"This is a meeting?" Remy asked wide-eyed. "Here I thought you were going to pull out the paddle."

"Get your mind out of the gutter," said Warren. "Oh, wait, I forgot. You live there."

"I'd rather be down in the real than in your cologne-infused dreamland. Tell me, Big Bird, when was the last time you took a crap without someone wiping it with a silk hankie?"

"Toilet humour, surprise, surprise. I'll start paying attention to your yapping once you can get through five minutes without referring to fecal matter." Warren looked at his watch. "I'm not holding my breath, of course."

Xavier sat back and steepled his hands. "So this is how the two of you would support Scott."

Warren's jaw dropped. "Professor, you know I have nothing but Scott's well-being in mind especially now that he's here--" he flung an arm in Remy direction, "-- bothering Scott with his scams and asinine problems."

"Yeah, like being around you is any better," Remy shot back. "Turning him into the country club set won't make him any likelier to sleep with you. Face it, Kentucky Fried, you're butt-ugly and he's taken."

"Please, drop the pretence of brotherly concern." Warren rolled his eyes. "You only come around when you need Scott to bail you out of another problem. What is it this time, Remy? Did you lose in Vegas? Another husband catch you sniffing in his wife's pants?"

"At least I knew enough to sniff. Obviously, Daddy Dearest cut yours balls off way too early."

"Professor, is his presence really necessary?" Warren asked. "What Scott needs now is time to regroup and come to terms with what happened."

"Scott knows what happened," said Remy testily. "What he needs to do is help me find Adam. I'll give him time to give that redhead of his a proper goodbye and we're off."

Warren let out a bitter laugh. "There you have it, Professor. He doesn't even know what's happened to Scott and he's demanding favours."

"What's happened to Scott?" asked Remy, senses going sharp.

"_Now_, you're concern--"

"Shut the hell up, Tweetie." Remy dismissed Warren with a sharp cut of his hand. "Professor, what's happened to Scotty?"

Xavier's lips tightened. Resting his elbows on the desk, he asked, "What do you remember of the... extracurricular activities that Scott and the others occasionally participate in?"

"The leather squad, yeah. Did that boy hurt himself playing hero?"

Warren threw his arms up. "For the love of-- Professor, permission to hit him with a brick?"

Xavier shook his head curtly. "We were attacked a few months ago. A government agency under the leadership of a... disturbed individual falsely believed this to be a front for an underground mutant army. They broke in and took some of the children. I'm afraid Jean Grey was... a casualty."

Remy's eyes narrowed. "Son of a bitch."

"Yes, and you come barging in at exactly the right time to bug him about your trivial dramatics," Warren began but Remy was already on his feet and stalking out of the room. "Where are you going?"

"Leave him alone, Warren," said Xavier. "I called both of you in for a reason. You are not entirely innocent in this situation either."

"Professor, I tried to return as soon as possible but I had meetings that couldn't be cancelled--"

"I know that." Xavier held a hand up, wanting to ease Warren's distress. "But whether you approve or not, Scott's family is still a major part of his life. Remy did come here on a legitimate emergency and I who suggested he stay."

"If they were so important to Scott, why didn't he tell them about Jean?"

Xavier didn't answer.


	4. Present Interlude 1

**Present Interlude #1**

* * *

His prison was frightening in its sterility. Adam Summers was a tad anal retentive about keeping his belongings clean and in its proper place but once he got home, he thought he'd be pretty damn happy living in a pig sty. If he never saw another lava lamp, it would be too soon. 

He'd heard about these containment tanks on TV. Remy had let him watch X-Files when he was a kid even though it was way up past his bed time. Of course, since he was only nine or ten at the time, he'd bury his head in Remy's shoulder and miss half the show. One episode that always stayed in his nightmares had a scene like this one: row upon row of people floating in tanks, tubes and wires tangling in and around their ghastly bluish bodies. He'd always wondered if those people knew what was going on, if they were freaking out or carefully planning an escape, if their actions all went to waste because some drug was keeping their limbs from obeying their brains.

The laboratory on TV wasn't as clean though. This place was terrifyingly clean.

Dark blobs wiggled into shape before him. Adam tried to blink, tried to get his eyes to focus but it was no use. All he could ever see were blurry blots moving across a rippling glass. That was the worst part in all of this, not being able to see or hear properly. His imagination made up for the blanks and damn it for being too good at its job. He'd gone from aliens to his dad's enemies getting revenge to slave traders in the time he'd been here.

Machines whined close by. Adam tensed. That was one noise he recognized right away.

_Move, move, movemovemovemovemove_! he screamed at his body. _Oh, shit, oh, God, please if I could just move, please._

The whine grew softer but instead of calming Adam, his terror increased. Any second now, one of those tubes would pipe something into him, something thick and painful that made his nose burn and his every nerve scream.

His silent mantra changed from "Oh, God, please let me move" to "Oh, God, please get Scott." Scott always fixed everything. Whenever life got too screwed up, Scott was always there and he always fixed it and he always saved them all from everything and oh, God, please let Scott find me this time, please oh please oh plea--


	5. My Place at the Table

**My Place at the Table  
**

* * *

Riding didn't come naturally to Scott. It took him a year before he could trot without feeling like his spine was going to get shoved through his skull and another year after that before he stopped butting heads (sometimes literally) with his mount about who was really in charge. 

Eventually, going for a ride became less of a chore although it was never a pleasure unless Jean or Warren was around to get his mind off of things. Still, there was something about being on a horse that-- cheesy as it sounded-- connected Scott to the mansion and the land surrounding it. Xavier's great-great-grandparents bred horses; a few of those bloodlines still lived here. The animals responded to his presence, if not well or predictably, and they always showed their appreciation for the visits whether he came to give them exercise, brush them down, or just feed them apples while he talked.

Scott did have a favourite though: Boromir, a buckskin. He was a Morgan, the only American breed in a stable of Old World Trakheners, Andalusians, and one Shetland pony that had delusions of being a Shire. He sympathised with the Morgan's position-- a working-class type surrounded by royalty in the same way that Scott himself had been surrounded by old money and nouveau riche.

Scott dismounted a few yards into the forest trail. Boromir whickered; it had been too short a ride.

"Give me a sec," Scott told him. "I haven't ridden in a while. My quads are killing me."

Nickering patiently, Boromir lowered his head to lip at the field grass.

"Lookin' dead sexy there, preppy."

Scott twisted around to look for the speaker, his hand at his visor. In a sycamore tree just out of his peripheral vision was Remy, lounging at a fork between two large branches, a cigarette smouldering between his index and middle finger.

Scott relaxed. Barely. "How the hell do you do that?"

"What?"

"Manage to appear wherever I go. It's like having a persistent wart." He patted Boromir's neck, easing the horse's surprise.

"Learned the trick at Annoy-UR-Big-Brothers-R-Us. Can't reveal. Gonna take away my secret decoder ring." He flicked ash from his cigarette and took a long drag. "Horses hate me."

"Maybe because you smell like a chimney," Scott pointed out.

Remy shrugged. "I always thought they knew how freaked out I am by the idea of being gelded."

"I could have used a pair of gelding shears once you hit junior high," said Scott.

"You're just jealous 'cause I always got picked to play spin-the-bottle."

"Considering how indiscriminate the spin-the-bottle crowd was, I'm kind of glad I missed out."

"Hey, I missed out on plenty, too," Remy said. "Meeting your red-head, for example. Sure would've loved to check her out."

Scott snorted even as his head started to throb. "There _was_ a reason why I kept her away."

Remy clutched his heart. "Well, hell, Baby Brother, if you were that threatened, no wonder you didn't even tell me that she'd died. Made a beautiful corpse, did she?"

Taking a deep breath that somehow managed not to be broken, Scott said, "Fuck. Off."

"No, _you_ fuck off." Remy pointed his cigarette at him and Scott knew that if he was a ten feet closer, the business end of that cigarette would have burnt a circle in the middle of his forehead. "Is that why that over-grown pigeon is here? You had _him_ at the funeral and not _us_?"

"Oh, please, dramatize," Scott said. He continued as evenly as he could. "What were you going to do if I told you anyway? Dad's still stationed in Kuwait, Alex is in the middle of field research, Adam's completely useless when it comes to planning anything, and you..."

"I'm what?" Remy asked, his voice low.

Scott shook his head. "Warren knew how to arrange... things."

"He's buried a lot of fuck buddies?"

"Jesus, this is exactly why I didn't call you!" Scott rubbed his forehead, feeling a migraine coming on. "Listen, Remy, just... back off, all right? I can't handle you guys right now."

"Sure thing, Scotty. Whatever the hell you say." Propping his legs high on the branch, Remy wedged his cigarette between his lips and folded his arms under his head. "As long as you remember the longer I'm here, the prettier your little students get."

With a shake of his head, Scott tugged Boromir deeper into the path, cursing Remy's ability to get on his second-to-last nerve.

* * *

Upon reflection, it probably wasn't the best idea to call on a guest that you'd kicked in the face. The only other volunteer had been Jubilee and God knew she'd only use that time to gawk and flirt. 

Piotr patted her shoulder. "It's all right, Rogue. He didn't seem to be angry when we left him with Mr. Summers."

"I guess," said Rogue. "But he's Mr. Summers' brother and I kind of kicked his face. I'm not sure he'd want to eat dinner with us after that."

"Our peace offering is dinner. And he tries anything, use me as a shield," said Piotr. He offered a quick smile, shy smile. Funny how someone so huge could be so gentle.

Her first week at the school, Rogue had avoided Pete, leery of both his size and apparent stand-offishness. Soon after Logan nearly killed her (not to mention that Statue of Liberty incident), he asked her to star in one of his photoshoots. He needed to restock his collection of reference pictures and, Pete told her, she was the perfect model for this set. He took her all over the house and the grounds, casually introducing her to the rest of the kids and making a bit production out of her poses, letting the others get used to her presence. If Logan helped her feel safe and Bobby, loved, it was Pete who made her feel normal.

Gentle as he was, when Piotr rapped firmly on their guest's door, it sounded like machine guns going off. "Mr. Summers? It's dinner time."

"It's open," came the muffled reply. Piotr obeyed to find Remy standing next to an open window, blowing cigarette smoke out into the damp night. Even though his room was dark, he wore shades but they didn't look like Cyclops' special glasses. "I never lock doors. Most locks are practically useless, y'know."

"The professor wanted us to tell you that it's time to eat, Mr. Summers," said Rogue. Then, in a rush, she added, "And I really want to apologize for kicking your face and pulling your hair."

"Forget it, Stripes." He tapped his cigarette thoughtfully on the window sill. "You from down south? Mississippi or there abouts, right?"

"Meridian," answered Rogue. "Most people can't tell the difference."

"I lived in New Orleans until I was ten. Have a place there now." said Remy. "I'd've gotten thumped good if I couldn't tell a river rat from a cowboy. And call me Remy; don't want to be mistaken as Scott."

"I'm Rogue," she said, holding out a hand.

"Piotr," said the other student. "Welcome to Xavier's School, Mr...uh... Remy."

Remy whistled. "Damn, I'm glad you're the one who went for help. If you'd kicked me in the face, I'd still be picking my teeth out of the carpet. Probably groping around for my eyeballs, too."

"Maybe next time you'll use the door," said Piotr with a slight smile.

"Doors are boring." He crushed the cigarette out on the sill and threw it in a trash can. "What's for dinner then? Mystery meat? Casserole surprise?"

"Stuffed turkey breasts, pasta salad, three-bean salad, and vegetarian lasagne," Piotr recited.

"I'd skip on the pasta salad," Rogue said quickly. "I was in the Foods class that made it and we had a little trouble with the concept of al dente."

Remy nodded in appreciation. "Gotcha."

They were halfway to the stairs when Rogue's curiosity overcame her. "Do you have powers like Mr. Summers? The other Mr. Summers, I mean? I don't mean to be nosy," she added, "but you've been wearing those shades all day. The only other person who does that is Mr. Summers and seeing as you're brothers..." She shrugged. "I was just wondering."

"No harm in it," said Remy. He drew his shades off and tucked them in his breast pocket. Even after seeing mutants like Mystique and Mr. Wagner, his eyes were a bit of a shock. His irises were red, like blood had leaked into them and solidified. Even his pupils had a red tinge. His black sclerae reminded Piotr of a rock in the reflection pool, perfectly smooth, barely glistening when wet.

"I can't see too well when there's too much light," Remy said, "so I wear the shades. They're fantastic for sneaking around in the dark, though."

"So, you're kinda born to be a thief," said Rogue.

"Rogue!" Piotr said admonishingly but Remy only laughed.

"I guess you can say that."

"So, you're older than Mr. Summers?" said Piotr, desperate to lead the conversation back into proper small talk.

Remy shrugged. "Officially, I'm younger but that's a story you're better off asking your teacher for details. Let's say we're half-brothers and leave it at that. There's two others younger than us. Adam, the baby, is about your age."

"So, not all of you have powers?" Rogue asked as they descended from the second landing.

"Just us two older kids," said Remy. "Guess the Powers That Be thought it was bad enough Adam and Alex are ugly as the south end of a north-bound warthog without adding mutations to the mix."

"What was Mr. Summers like while you went to school here?" Piotr wanted to know. "My little sister is coming next year; she's upset that I won't be here to show her around."

Jogging down the last few steps to the main floor, Remy said, "Again, you're better off askin' Hank McCoy or Worthington the Winged Wonder Lad. I only stayed here a month."

"You really lucked out then," said Rogue. "All you have to do to control your power is wear glasses."

As they reached the base of the steps, Remy smacked his palm against his forehead. "Dang, did I forget to tell you? The eyes aren't the only mutation."

The two students stopped, matching quizzical expressions on their faces.

Remy swooped down to pick up a small white feather. "Damn over grown chickens. They make terrible pets."

The feather blushed deep pink, crackled and darkened to an angry red and then exploded with a soft bang, leaving Rogue and Piotr to cough in the smoky wake.

"Oh, crap, now I've dirtied up my good shirt." Remy slapped ash away with both hands. "Never could get a hang of dinner time around here."

While breakfast was optional and lunches, informal, dinners at Xavier's were mandatory. On Fridays, the teachers sat with the students and on Saturdays, the dress code was dropped but normally, like this evening, all the men were in dress shirts and slacks and the women in blouses and skirts or dress pants. A group of students, led by one of the teachers, organized every dinner for a week: the menu, seating arrangements and, on Sundays, the china patterns. Xavier called it Applied Communications and Group Dynamics and graded the students based on teamwork, the smoothness of meal dynamics, and how closely the dishes followed the food pyramid.

The teachers sat on either side of two long tables that were curiously but comfortably empty. Xavier, Kelly, Logan and Remy had one table; Scott, Ororo, Warren and Hank sat in the other. Thirty students were spending their summer at the school this year, double the size of last year's semester.

Drinks lined the side table under the main bay window. Entrees marched down the centre of both tables. This week's group added small flower arrangements-- magnolias blossoms and their thick, dark leaves-- between each place setting for a more formal touch.

"We're lucky we have Teresa in our group this week," said Rogue as they slipped through the entrance. "She worships Martha Stewart."

Remy tilted his chin down and ran a hand through his hair. "Didn't anyone tell you guys it's summer vacation? Why are all of you still here taking classes?"

"Remedial courses," Rogue answered.

"And some have nowhere else to go," Piotr said with offhand casualness.

Rogue chewed her lip and headed for her seat beside Bobby, shoulders hunched.

Blushing, Piotr tried to fix his gaffe by saying, "A lot of us are here by choice, though. I mean, I'm not here for remedial classes but I'm still staying because I like the school environment. Not that home is terrible but I just--"

Remy patted his arm. "It's okay, big guy. Switch me seats and I'll handle it."

Flustered, the young man didn't even argue as he made his way to the seat next to Ms. Munro. Remy rushed to Rogue's side, pulling out her chair and bowing gallantly.

"Après vous, ma'amselle."

Rogue sulkily took the seat, opened her napkin, and placed it on her lap. Bobby was still talking to Jamie about the upcoming season of "Lost" but he squeezed her hand in greeting.

"Man, will you look at this spread." Remy clapped his hands and rubbed them together with glee. "Reminds me of the time Pops got me from the foster home. He took all of us to a posh hotel restaurant straight away. Guess it was a buffet or something. All I can remember was miles and miles of food all decked out pretty and a table set with seven forks and four knives, five spoons and ten glasses, six plates and two bowls and a little dish that I thought was vinegar but was actually for washing your fingertips with. Nothing makes you feel like more of an outsider than having to figure out which fork to use when you're starving enough to use your hands."

"So what did you do?" Rogue asked politely.

"Dove right in," said Remy with a wink and a grin. "Who cares about forks when you're starving enough to use both hands? Not that Tante Mattie starved us-- Tante Mattie was my foster mom at the time and, bless her, she had her hands full with six of us kids running amok in her place. We had enough to eat but never this much and I'd always had two hollow legs.

"There was this salmon--" Remy spread his hands three feet apart to illustrate the size of the fish "-- hugest damn… erm, _dang_ fish I'd ever seen. Skinned and steamed with these paper-thin slices of lemon and specks of pepper and onions and a nice tart sauce next to it. I almost passed out, I was so excited about eating that fish. I swear to you, they had to hold me back by the arms; I was totally willing to just gnaw on the salmon right then and there."

Rogue giggled despite herself. She served herself a few scoops of three-bean salad then passed it to Remy, who continued his narration.

"And on the other side of the buffet was a cow."

Jubilee nearly spat her mouthful of lasagne out. She coughed, her cheeks bright red at being caught listening in on the conversation. Remy winked at her as well, tacitly including her in the conversation.

"I kid you not, it was a whole cow just sitting there under giant heat lamps while this Hannibal Lector guy with the ginsu knives carved out chunks of meat and plopped them on people's plates. That cow should've come with warning signs because vegetarians were just dropping down like flies in disgust. Me, I was salivating all down my shirt front. They gave me a bib and told me it was for the lobster but I know it was 'cause my clothes were wet all the way down to my knees."

By this time, Remy had the entire table's attention. Utensils quieted and, other than the occasional chuckle, no one else made a sound.

"Scotty there was no help." Remy pointed his butter knife at his brother who sat at the head of the other table. "He was so tickled by me and my amazing Hoover-mouth that he kept refilling my plate. Reams and reams of food piled up to my chin and me, being the polite sort, kept eating and eating everything he'd put on it. I tried everything on that buffet three times over. And that was before we got to the dessert table!"

"Don't blame the dessert table on me," Scott said, letting his voice carry over the quiet murmurs. "I told you to stop after that chocolate with chocolate on chocolate cake."

Jubilee moaned. Remy nodded in her direction. "My thoughts exactly. How do you stop after that chocolate cake? If that first try was good enough, the rest had to be better right? So I filled up on Jell-o and pudding and all these little fruit tarts and ice cream with all the toppings and cream puffs and fruit."

"Fruit are the natural dessert," Rogue interjected slyly.

"Exactly. I was just looking after my health."

Kelly snorted again. "I'm sorry. Please, keep going. This is really entertaining."

"Okay, so here I am after putting away twice my weight in food, sauce and drool running down my shirt, probably more gack on my face and it occurs to me that I hadn't drunk a drop of anything all that time."

"Oh no," said Bobby. "I think I know where this is going."

"You'd be guessing right," Remy said. "Seeing as how we're at the table, Big Brother's giving me the evil eye and your headmaster's just six feet away looking mighty posh in his Ralph Lauren suit, I'm going to leave the ending to your imagination. Pass the white wine, please?"

From his position, Warren barely restrained his urge to gag. "Does he go into the hokey accent for your benefit or mine?" he asked Scott.

"Definitely yours this time around," Scott replied. "I had my quota a few hours ago." Quickly shovelling the contents of his plate into his mouth, he got up, thanking the group for the meal.

"Where are you going?" asked Xavier.

"I've got a lot of things to finish up before we start the teacher interviews next week," said Scott, "especially if we're going to look for Adam, too."

"Nice of you to remember his name," Remy murmured.

Scott's smile tightened. With a final farewell, he escaped to his office for a few hours of heavenly computer crunching.


	6. Past Interlude, Bellevue, NE, 1991

**Past Interlude #2: Bellevue, NE, USA - 1991**

* * *

Despite the high percentage of army brats in the school, East Hollows High still had crap security. Having found one window that the security alarm didn't monitor, Remy slipped into the dark hallways, his leather-soled shoes finding purchase on a low bookshelf. He tiptoed between a couple models and an overgrown aloe plant to get to the teacher's desk. 

Meticulously, he went through the desk drawers, taking care to return everything exactly as he found them. The great thing about seeing in the dark was never needing a penlight, cutting the chances of getting caught by a million. In under twenty minutes, he was out the window with the sample exam tucked in a bag under his shirt. Fifteen minutes after that, with five photocopies in the bag, he returned the original exam.

"What's stopping us from just making more copies once I pay you?" asked one of the high school kids, a "client" as Remy liked to think of him.

Not letting his smile fade, Remy took out a mini-tape recorder. When he pressed play, his shocked "client" listened, horrified, at his voice agreeing to pay for the answers. Remy's parts were cleverly blurred.

"You're gonna hand that over, kid," said the client, taking a threatening step forward.

Remy danced away. "Nuh-uh, hands off or I won't be able to get the copy of this tape that I dropped in your teachers' desk."

The client froze. His eyes harrowed. "You wouldn't so something that stupid."

"Wouldn't I?" Remy turned the tape off and tucked it back in his bag. "I'm only in middle school; they wouldn't recognize my voice. I hear that she knows you real well since you keep talking up in class. Let's see what happens when your Daddy finds out about this." He shouldn't be enjoying the way his client's fists were going white. "Nice car. Is it new?"

"Summers, you're gonna get yourself beat up," the older boy said, jerking several ten dollar bills from his wallet.

"Sure I am, but it won't be by you." He saluted. "Nice doing business with you." Remy waved as his client's car disappeared around the corner in a cloud of dust. He waited until he couldn't hear engines before loping around the tree and--

-- bumping straight into a wall of blue and yellow letterman jackets.

Remy popped off the ground and backpedalled. The wall of jocks followed. "You all should go on stage with an act like that."

The wall of jocks didn't speak.

"I get it," said Remy, still slowly moving backwards. "You buddy gets away with the answer key, you beat me up and get my hard-earned money, and when he gets pulled into the principal's office, he can honestly say he was nowhere near me, right? I think I saw something like this on TV."

The wall of jocks curved around, clearly intending to surround him. He pushed his shades higher up on his nose.

"Tell you what. What if I give you the money and we can forget about the beating part?" Remy swung his head around, searching for a way out. These guys had VW Beetles for fists and legs as long as Remy was tall. They wouldn't really beat on a thirteen year-old, would they?

"Hey, Todd Nicieza!"

Remy didn't turn around but the two dozen little pinheads on the wall of jocks did. He knew better than to turn his back on these guys. Besides, he knew that voice. Scott, the second coming of Francis of Assisi. Or was that St. Jude?

Scott, the demented idiot, kept calling out names. "James Morrisson! Danny Claremont! Joe Laird! Mike Carey! Justin Vaughn!"

"Who is that?" one of the jock wall components muttered.

"I dunno."

"Some fish, I think."

"That's a fish talkin' back at us?"

"That's what I'm sayin'."

Scott kept yelling names at the top of his lungs as Remy eased back further and further from the confused wall of jocks. "Kyle Lobdell! Bobby Milligan! Mike Willingham! Gary Moore!"

Remy broke into a run. "Hi, Scott! Bye, Scott!" he gasped as his brother fell in step.

"You're dead," Scott replied. Gripping Remy's sleeve, he pushed him forward. "Lift your goddamn lead feet and run! They're gonna catch up."

Sure enough, heavy footsteps banged closer like a barbaric chant. Remy's heart was close to breaking his ribs from fear and from running-- kee-rist was it only five blocks? Bellevue had the biggest goddamn blocks in the world! Each block was a friggin' county!

Scott yanked at Remy's shirt again. Remy followed him up the word wooden steps and the vinyl doors without hesitation. Cold, recycled air hit his sweaty forehead, making him shiver.

"Where are we?" Remy asked.

"In the library" said Scott.

"Library?" Remy repeated. "With books?"

Scott rolled his eyes. "They won't come in here; there's too many people. There are comics over there if you get bored. It has pictures in case the five-letter words get too scary for you. Just don't go out for at least two hours in case--"

"Jesus, you go to high school and suddenly, you know everything," said Remy. "I know how to stay away from the jocks."

"Yeah, you were doing a great job when I came by. Next time, I'll just leave your sorry ass instead of bailing you out like I always do."

"Maybe you should." Taking in one last deep breath, he wandered to the comics shelf.


	7. The Exercise

**The Exercise**

* * *

The tools in Logan's hands felt very comfortable. It would be pretty hilarious if after all this soul-searching and mind-ripping, he ended up being a superintendent with delusions of grandeur who happened to be taking care of the building where those crackpot scientists had their lab. 

_I very much doubt that's the case_, Xavier said.

They were in Cerebro, fiddling with the guts of the machine, doing some final tweaks. Some guy named Forge dropped in and put most of the big stuff together around the same time the major repairs were going in. He left a notebook of scribbled diagrams that Xavier read and hummed at every five minutes before telling Logan to connect the red wire to the green socket.

Logan didn't know why Xavier trusted him with the machine; he was positive he wasn't a computer geek. Putting in new windows was real different from re-wiring the cables on this overgrown science experiment. But, hey, it was Xavier's shiny dome wearing that helmet.

He turned the screwdriver one last time to ensure the screw wouldn't give. "Okay, it's in. How's it feeling?"

Xavier chicken-pecked at the console. "All the systems seem to be in order. Forge mentioned that he'd installed a troubleshooter in the program although it only indicates the malfunctioning part and not how to fix it."

"That's real helpful."

"Considering what we had to do before, this is a godsend." Xavier put the helmet on. "If you wouldn't mind keying the doors into 'watch' mode; should anything goes wrong, you can override the lock and shut Cerebro down."

"How do I know if something's going wrong?" asked Logan.

"I'll probably be shouting expletives at the top of my voice. Your hearing should come in handy."

Logan could have sworn he saw Xavier grinning. Telepaths-- all that mental mind-twisting definitely did something to their sanity. As a card-carrying member of the Possibly Psychotic Club, Logan knew all the signs.

"Out of curiosity," said Logan, "what did I just do?"

Xavier paused in the middle of typing. "You increased Cerebro's sensitivity. I'd requested Forge to place it at a low level by default partially as a security measure against curious young telepaths that might enrol and partially to prevent a repeat of the events at Alkali Lake. The only way to change the setting is manually, as a redundant safety device." He tapped a few keys and the room buzzed. "Even though I can cross-reference Adam's bio signature through Scott's file, since Adam is not a mutant, Cerebro's sensitivity level must be increased."

"So I'm going to have to hang out until you're done so I can quiet it down again," said Logan.

"I'll let you know when you're needed," said Xavier. "But first, the test run. Do you remember how to operate the viewing panel?"

"Yeah, sure, Chuck. Reality TV technology finally put to good use."

Logan stepped out, wiping his hands on a workshop rag as Cerebro's doors hissed shut. He could really kill for a smoke right around now. That machine had never sat well with him-- maybe it was the knowledge that Magneto helped build it, maybe it was the idea that it made Xavier a frillion times stronger.

He pulled on a notch in the wall beside the doors. A monitor with a small panel of buttons disengaged from the smooth metal finish. After a short hiss of static, the monitor showed Xavier with the helmet, eyes closed in concentration. It was grainy-- something about the telepathic resonance interfering with the camera lens-- but it was clear enough for the current purpose. Numbers and a line-graph scrolled in an adjacent, slightly larger monitor.

"Do you remember what to look for on the readout?" asked Xavier.

"Yeah, sure," said Logan. "If the graph goes over 9000 or under 5000, shut it down. If the numbers go over 13 .2 and under 12.8, shut it down. It's like tuning an engine."

"Excellent. I'm bringing up Cyclops' biosignature file," said Xavier. His voice was grainy, too, like those audio cassette tapes that had been played way too may times. "All the systems are responding properly."

The viewing panel was one-way only; Logan could see and hear Xavier but not the other way around. He stuck a cigar in his mouth.

Xavier's voice popped in his head again, this time in digital surround sound. _Logan, sneaking a smoke when I'm on Cerebro? That's demeaning._

_At least you know it's working_, Logan thought back at him.

Mental laughter came accompanied with multi-coloured stripes and the smell of freshly baked pies and roast chicken. If that was a peek into Xavier's head when he was laughing, Logan was putting good money on the bet that all telepaths were a little bit nuts.

_Actually, those are just residual memories evoked by my amusement_, said Xavier. _The tendency on the astral plane is to think not only in terms of words. All the senses become incorporated in the emotion including memories that have an especially strong connection to that particular emotion_.

_So you have extremely happy memories of wearing plaid at church picnic buffets?_ asked Logan.

_Colours are a bit difficult to explain_, said Xavier, _but the scents... Memories are stored, for the lack of a better phrase, close to the processing area for the olfactory system. Some victims of amnesia also become scent-blind because of that region which was damaged. In any case, the scent of pies aren't mine. My thoughts probably triggered a few of your memories_.

Logan instantly went on alert. _How'd that happen?_

_I assure you, it's entirely normal and happens to everyone. It's rather like speaking with a group of friends over a poker table. One person tells a funny story which reminds the next person of a similar experience who then reminds a third man of his own story and so on and so forth. I acquaint Sunday dinners with joy and your mind, in turn, pulled out a memory of a favourite mealtime._

_Great, so my next mission is to go around sniffing pies at country fairs_.

_I could think of worse ways to spend a year_.

He had a point.

"Cross-referencing Cyclops' biosignature with known related mutants," Xavier said out loud. "All systems are responding. I'm going to attempt to search for Alex. I know his location and his biosignature so it should be relatively easy. However, since this will be the first time I access a non-human mind since... Alkali Lake, I will need you to watch the readouts very closely. If the numbers don't go over 13, we'll have to sensitize the machine a bit more."

"Ready when you are, Chuck." Logan spoke out loud before remembered that he had to think the words.

"Don't worry; I heard you," said Xavier. _I'm changing my search to Hawai'i now_.

Silence from Cerebro. Logan kept one eye on Xavier's expression and the other at the figures on the larger monitor. The line graph oscillated wildly but within the safe range. The numbers underneath it moved steadily upwards, increasing by hundredths.

_Looking good_, Logan thought.

_Yes, it's very encouraging_, said Xavier. _Alex is very easy to find. His mind is very much like Scott, constantly expending energy processing large amounts of data._

_In comparison to the walking dick that's visiting us right now?_

Yellow-tinted stripes flashed through Logan's head. _Don't underestimate Remy_, Xavier said. _He tries far too hard to appear carefree._

_Staff grapevine says he dropped out of this school._

_Many students only stay for a short time especially if they have supportive families. It's telling, I think, that Remy only needed a few months to master his gift when he received them at a younger age than the present students._

Great. Even the slacker in Summers' family was "exceptional."

_How are the readings?_ asked Xavier after a few minutes of scanning: first all non-mutants on Hawai'i, then all the mutants on the archipelago, then switching rapidly from the mainland USA to the islands and finally alternating between mutants and non-mutants on the mainland..

_Holding steady_, Logan replied.

_Good. Then, I believe I'll start the search now._

_What, for One-Eye's kid brother?_

_It's been a week. The longer we wait, the greater the possibility that Adam might be hurt,_ said Xavier. _Staff interviews aren't until the afternoon. I will not be needed until then_.

"Whatever you say, Chuck." Another flash of plaid, this one in greens and blues, flew through Logan's mind before Xavier turned his attention away.

With his boots clunking heavily against the sub-basement floors, Logan left the Cerebro sector, taking care to re-arm the security door which Forge had also installed during his visit. There was one mutant power Logan would lose a limb for-- the ability to build everything out of duct tape and scrap metal. Damn, the mods he could put on a bike if he had that.

A small group of kids, led by Cyclops and Storm, made their way down the same hall. Logan dipped his chin in Rogue's direction but she barely acknowledged him. Weird.

"Logan," said Storm.

Cyclops didn't speak but Logan was getting used to it. The guy did spend the whole week after Jean's death talking in monosyllables.

"Where you headed?" he asked, again pointedly facing Rogue.

To his dismay, her lower lip stuck out and she broke away from her classmates, barelling into the elevator and punching the call button viciously.

Logan stared after her, his eyes narrowed. "Where's the fire?"

A deep sigh rushed from Cyclops' chest. "Class dismissed. Go nuke yourselves some lunch before Pietro eats it all. I'm just going to talk with Logan for a sec, 'Ro."

The remaining three students nodded and limped away with Storm at their heels, hovering uncertainly.

Cyclops fell into a comfortable military stance which Logan copied until he realised he did so. Then, he deliberately pulled a cigar out of his jacket and stuck it between his teeth.

"Rogue's being too hard on herself," said Cyclops.

One of Logan's brows rose. He didn't see that one coming. "What do you mean?"

They began walking down the hall towards the council room's east entrance. "We had a training session in the Danger Room just now. Nothing too complicated; just a high-tech version of capture the flag. It's her first time in that environment so, of course, I told her that she'd experience some disorientation, maybe fall back a little." Cyclops shook his head. "She wants to save the world and she wants to do it now."

"Don't that make her the perfect little X-Man?" Logan drawled.

"Don't be a turd," Cyclops retorted. "This training is for self-defense not offensive attacks. We were never meant to--" His jaw muscles clenched. "Rogue has a severe disadvantage on the field. Her gifts are extremely close-range. If she borrows gifts from her teammates, then they're the ones who become vulnerable."

"So give her a gun, teach her how to shoot."

"I'd rather not give firearms to a seventeen year-old, thanks. Especially not in a school."

"Then what the hell are you trying to tell me?" Logan demanded.

"Talk to her," said Cyclops. "Convince her that's it's okay to stay behind the main line of attack. She wants to be out there-- I don't know, kicking racist ass or something but she's just going to get herself hurt. Racist asses come heavily armed nowadays." His mouth curled down. "If I had the time, I could train her in a bit of judo but not to the level that she wants to be at."

"I know judo," said Logan abruptly.

Although what he could see of Cyclops' face didn't change, Logan could sense his doubt. "I'm not talking about an addiction to Bruce Lee films."

"Neither am I," Logan snapped. "I know it. I've taught it before."

"When?"

"Hell if I remember but I have."

Cyclops was silent, studying his sincerity Logan presumed. "Okay. Even taking that into account, she still wants to be at the head of everything. I don't want you to make her over-confident, Logan. Not if it means she'll get hurt."

"Rogue's got a stubborn streak that'd make the Pacific look like a puddle," said Logan. "If she wants to kick Brotherhood ass, I'm going to be cheering her on. Kid's been knocked down enough."

"I'm surrounded by comic book wanna-bes," Cyclops muttered. "Nix everything I just said, Logan. If you're going to get her killed--"

"I didn't say that," said Logan sharply. "Part of judo is knowing your weaknesses as well as your enemies. I'm going to teach her how to kick-ass but only if she knows she can win."

"Unlike some other people who run headlong into enormously outnumbered fights?" Cyclops said with a wry twist to his lips.

"That's only because I know I can win every fight," said Logan.

* * *

The sparring floor groaned in surrender as Alex sent Kim slamming down. He quickly shook off the shock, jumped back to his feet and pummelled Alex into the ropes. Alex feinted a punch and a kick, finally settling for a headbutt. 

The referee blew his whistle. "Summers! Watch your form!"

"It's okay," said Kim, smirking. "What's the good of learning how to fight if you don't know how to go against people who fight dirty?"

"I don't fight dirty," Alex said. "That was a perfectly legal headbutt in accordance to Ultimate Fighting rules."

Kim snorted. "Dude, we're not ultimate fighters."

"Maybe not you." Alex's grin widened when Kim came at him with a series of round house kicks. He dodged all but the last which knocked his jaw back, eliciting a loud crack as joints popped.

"Fujimura!" the ref shouted but the two young men ignored him. He wiped his sweaty brow. "Fine. As long as you don't get blood on that ring, I'm leaving you two psychos to yourselves."

Blood did get on the ring but Alex and Kim cleaned it up with a liberal application of Lysol and a shirt from the lost and found.

"Man, I have to work in ten minutes," said Alex, "and my arm feels like shit."

"I thought the Klines weren't coming for another half an hour?" Kim said, popping a stick of gum in his mouth.

"Yeah, but it takes about that long to get the smell out of the clothes."

"Dude, that's why you shower."

"Dude, I don't have time to shower. Not when I've got a chem lab exam to study for."

Kim tsked. "School in the summer. You're way too hard-core, brah."

"Nah, just aching for any excuse to hop around this island and collect rocks."

"You know what happens when you take one of Pele's rocks right?"

Alex cocked an eyebrow. "Something gruesome?"

"Your pizzle withers," said Kim. "And then you start wanting to hump lizards."

Alex laughed. "You are so full of shi--"

"Hi, Alex!" Lorna Dane broke away from a small group of girls to wave at them, her brightly printed sari-skirt fluttering like a butterfly. "Hey... Kim, right?"

Kim nudged Alex. "You do _not_ want your pizzle withering."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Alex as he held his arms out. "Heya, babe. Missed you."

They kissed amidst their friends' amused impatience.

"Are we all still going to the Blue Jalapeno tonight for our three-month anniversary?" Lorna asked.

"Tonight?" Panic crossed Alex's face for a second but cleared when Lorna turned back to him. "Totally. Which is why I'd better get going so I can get all my reading done." He bussed her cheek. "Give me a call around five, okay?"

Kim managed to keep from commenting until they were out of Lorna's hearing range. "There's a dilemma, brah. Once a decade geological phenomenon or a chance to finally get into a certain someone's..."

Alex's eyes narrowed in warning but Kim quickly amended his thought.

"...good graces." He coughed again, so loudly and so long that Alex felt the need to put him out of his misery. Preferably by choking him so he wouldn't have to deal with that horrible cough.

"You wouldn't have that problem if you dated someone out of diapers," said Kim as they entered the prep room. Uniform shirts on locker hooks lined the walls. Alex made a beeline for his. Although it was across the room from Kim's, the distance didn't deter his friend. "At least, try to go for someone out of braces."

"Lots of people get braces out of high school," Alex said, nearly grumbling. "She's not that young. Hell, we're in the same math class."

"Because you enrolled later than she did," Kim pointed out. "Dude, I mean it. She's still thinking like it's high school with that three-month anniversary crap. You are in for nothing but a shitload of grief."

"Let me worry about it," said Alex. "I'll figure something out. Maybe if I rig a camera..." he muttered, mostly to himself.

"Where, at the restaurant or the volcano?" Kim was laughing so hard he didn't protest when Alex decided to whip him stupid with a wet towel.

When the Kline party strolled out to the green thirty minutes later, Alex and Kim were the picture of professionalism having directed their energy into the game. They met with the portly doctor and his guest, hands out for a shake.

"Good morning, Dr. Kline," said Alex, genuinely pleased to meet the man. "I'm happy to see you again."

"Likewise, Alex," said Kline. "As if I'd get anyone else to caddy for me. Gentlemen, I want you to look get a good hard look on this boy's face. Next time you see him, he'll be in the Masters sliding one of those green jackets around his shoulders."

"Don't I just wish," Alex said dryly. He turned his attention to Kline's guest. "Alex Summers."

"Michael Milbury." The dark, goateed man had a creepy look in his eyes and an equally disconcerting handshake. He held on a hair too long, his palms cold and hard, unnaturally smooth. Alex had to resist the urge to wipe his hands on his pants after Milbury released him.

"Are you a doctor, too?" asked Kim.

"I'm no longer a practitioner," replied Milbury. "I started in the OR but discovered that I much prefer research."

"What kind of research?"

"Genetics."

Kim nudged Alex. "Isn't your brother's girlfriend studying the same thing?"

He couldn't explain why his reluctance to speak to Milbury. Ignoring the question would be rude, however, and Kline was one of the club's best members. "I'm not sure," Alex finally said. "I think she's gone back to practicing."

"There are a lucky few who can devote their time to both," said Millbury. "I found that I couldn't handle the strain of the emergency room. My failures affected me too deeply." The corners of his lips turned up into what might have been a smile. "There is no way to become attached to a Petri dish of stem cells."

"Depends on how much your grant is!" Kline guffawed at his own joke. Kim and Alex half-heartedly joined in while Milbury kept his non-smile on.

"You're a middle child, aren't you?" Milbury commented halfway through the second hole.

"I'm sorry?" Alex played at obtuseness.

"You're the middle child in your family. I can tell." Milbury gestured discreetly at Kline. "Middle children like to please as you're doing right now, juggling my incompetence and Kline's posturing with relative ease. No, don't protest; I _am_ incompetent and Kline _is_ posturing. Everyone who isn't a professional postures at golf. The attire all but calls for it." His lips turned up again. Alex couldn't help but imagine that the smile was a mask, one of those waxy numbers he and his brothers used to buy for a quarter at corner-stores.

"I've got two older brothers and one younger," he said, unable to think of a reason to lie.

"Ah, close enough. And do you get along well with your brothers?"

"As well as any other family, I guess."

"You think I'm prying," he said with a slight nod.

"No, not really--"

"Please, forgive a hermit's attempts at socialization. I believe Kline should be calling for you any moment now."

On their way to the fifth hole, Kim nudged Alex again. "I think he's got a crush on you," he teased, tilting his chin in Milbury's direction. The two doctors were discussing one of Kline's patients with disgusting detail.

Alex heaved the golf bag higher on his shoulder. "Screw off, Fujimura."

"What? He stares at you when you're not looking. I think you better keep your back turned away from this guy just in case. You don't want Lorna to get jealous now, do you?"

Kim wasn't going to stop until he played along so, despite his aversion, Alex let the comments slide. He retorted something equally suggestive then hurried to Kline's side as they got to the second hole. Milbury bugged him but it wasn't what Kim thought. The man just did not sit right in Alex's gut. If he came around again as Kline's guest, Alex decided he'd sit the round out. It would cost him a great tip but it wasn't worth being in Milbury's presence again.


	8. Present Interlude 2

**Present Interlude #2**

* * *

Once in a while, Adam woke up in a cell, six feet all around. He knew the dimensions because he was six feet tall exactly and it was just high enough for his head to touch the ceiling and just wide enough for him to lie down straight in either direction. It had no bars, no windows, and no furniture, not even a toilet. The first time he felt the need to piss or crap, he'd become uncomfortably aware of tubes in places he _knew_ tubes shouldn't be in. Of all the things he'd been subjected to in this nightmare of a laboratory, crapping in his pants through a tube was the only thing that made him lose it. 

Chris Summers' boys didn't cry but for Pete's sake, he had to _shit_ in his _pants_ through a _tube_! Pain, he could take; indignity was another matter.

He always had a full bodysuit on when he woke up, with no memory of anyone taking him out of the tank and dressing him. The weave was so small he couldn't see the threads but it didn't look rubbery. Cold, metallic points dotted his body and he convinced himself that they were harmless sensors and not more tubes.

The suit extended to his hands, feet, and over his head so he couldn't feel much. He was pretty sure his face wasn't covered but, again, he didn't have full use of touch. He could stick out his tongue without anything blocking it, so that was a good indicator. His crown felt smooth but he couldn't tell if they'd shaved his head or not under that hood.

Adam talked a lot when he was in the cell. He yelled and he sang and he recited Shakespeare. He was supposed to play Falstaff for a community theatre; at this rate, he'd able to play every role perfectly.

Even when no one answered, he kept talking. Alex would say it was because he liked the sound of his voice and, y'know, that was probably true. The other reason was because when you'd been kidnapped, poked, prodded, jerked off by a computer, and alternately stuffed in kink gear or pickled in watery Jell-o, talking to yourself was practically par for the course.

"My brothers are going to kick your ass, you know," he said as he paced. Adam liked to pace, liked to move when he was in the cell just to make sure all the parts were still moving. "Scott's going to raze this place until it sinks into the magma layer. And Remy? He's going to get his mafia connections to hunt your families down and turn them into doilies. Alex… well, Alex doesn't like me on principle, but he's always on the look out for people that Scott says are okay to beat up. Alex likes to beat people up especially around finals.

"I bet you think this silence thing is supposed to freak me out. It did at first but then I remembered that I can talk anyone to death. Ask anybody. I've actually been kicked out of the debate club for talking too much. Scott kind of freaked out at me but Scott always freaks out; it's his job.

"Did I mention he was going to kick your collective asses? 'Cause he _so_ is.'

Adam switched directions.

Falstaff, he had to remember his lines as Fallstaff. "I call thee coward! I'll see thee damn'd ere I call thee coward: but I would give a thousand pound, I could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders; you care not who sees your back; call you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! Give me them that will face me. Give me a cup of sack: I am a rogue, if I drunk today."

He switched directions and voice tones because who was Falstaff without Prince Henry as a foil? "O villain! Thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunk'st last!"

He switched again, back to his Falstaff voice. "All is one for that. A plague of all cowards! still say I."

Back to Prince Henry: "What's the matter?"

And Falstaff: "What's the matter? There be four of us here have ta'en a thousand pound this day morning."

And Henry: "Where is it, Jack? Where is it?"

Adam stuttered to a stop. "Where is it?" he repeated softly. Locking his fingers behind his neck, he paced, this time to try to bring up the next line. "Where is it? Where is... dammit, I need someone to feed me the line."

Striking a pose, he slipped back in character. "What's the matter? there be four of us here have ta'en a thousand pound this day morning." Turning around, Adam spoke to his other self. "Where is it, Jack? Where is it?"

The words left him. "Where is it, Jack?" Adam said, leaving the exaggerated Oxford accent off. "Where is it, Jack? Where the godddamn hell is it, Jack? Huh, Jack? You friggin' drunken loser, Jack, you can't keep anything, can you? Where the goddamn hell is it? Where--?"

He threw himself at the farthest wall. There was a loud, hollow crack and Adam bounced to the floor, stunned, his head throbbing.

"Real smart, drama queen," he muttered to himself. "If someone's recording this, I swear to God I'll suck your cock if you just keep a copy of this away from my brothers. They're friggin' _thrive_ on this blackmail material for the rest of my natural life. Which is going to be a very, very, _very_ long time," he tacked on in the end, "unlike yours. Because my brothers are going to find me."


	9. The Pursuit

**The Pursuit**

* * *

Locks and alarms made most people feel safe. They made Remy giddy. He loved puzzles more than anything. Locks, alarms, all security devices were the ultimate puzzle because they were never meant to be solved. 

The lock on Scott's door was like the first level of a video game, not so much a challenge as an introduction. Push-knob locks needed nothing more than a tool long and narrow enough to fit through a circular opening on the outer side of the knob so to make things more interesting, Remy picked the lock with a paper clip. A long-handled hook took care of the chain-lock; he should really buy a better designed spring latch for Scott.

Scott's room was, naturally, in immaculate order. If there was one thing Chris Summers never had to remind his boys about, it was cleaning up after themselves. His dad's army pals called the habit the Summers Obsessive-Compulsive Gene. Strangely enough, Adam was the worse of all of them. Woe betide the man or woman who messed the perfect order of that boy's room; he could tell when a single pencil was out of its container or if a single wrinkle marred the crispness of his sheets.

"Okay, if I was Scott, where would I stash my stuff?" Remy turned slowly on his heel.

The nightstands on either side of the box bed frame had plenty of drawers but that was too obvious. The bed's wooden sidings held promise. Kneeling, Remy felt along the rim of the bed frame looking for a catch or a loose panel.

Nothing there.

The closet then. Closets had tonnes of nooks and crannies to store things in. Having grown up with a bunch of nosy little brothers, Scott would know that he had to choose a container that was both incongruous enough to be passed at a third or fourth glance yet secure enough not to spill open when jostled.

Using a spray can of cooking oil, Remy greased the runners on the closet doors to keep them from creaking. He cracked both doors open and greased the hinges.

"Arranging your clothes according to colour." Remy clicked his tongue. "On anyone else, Scotty, I'd've said you'd gone straight over the line between neat and freak but I'll forgive you the dork points since you're a little colour-blind nowadays."

Gingerly, he felt around behind and under the stacks of folded clothing, then through the upper shelves and hanging clothes, and finally down to the wire shoe rack.

"Two loafers and one pair of ratty sneakers," Remy muttered. "Lord, where did I go wrong with this boy?" He slid the other side of the closet open.

It was an unholy mess. Clothes heaped haphazardly on shelves, draped over clothing rods, and stuffed into cardboard boxes. Books and binders filled in nooks and crannies-- at least three dozen-- open to damage. Scott would never treat books like that; he loved them too much. Remy fingered the beaded edging on a soft black and tan scarf. The clothes weren't his then; they were the girlfriend's, Jean's. Even then, after five years of living with Scott, the OCD-gene tended to rub off. At the very least, Scott would fix everything for her.

Remy's lips tightened. He'd look for what he needed later; first he had to clean up this mess and then make Scotty tell him--

"What the hell are you doing in there?"

Warren startled him but Remy would be damned if he'd show it. He turned slowly, taking the black and tan scarf with him. "Got a hot date tonight. I figured I'd take a peek in here and see if there was anything I could give her to soften her up."

Revulsion twisted Warren's face. "You're beneath contempt," he said. "Get out right now and I won't tell Scott about this."

Pasting a smirk on his face, Remy shrugged and complied. "It's not like Red's going to need them any more where she's at."

"You utter and complete ass!"

Remy saw the punch coming from a mile away. He bent back until his head nearly touched the floor, grinning as Warren's fist wooshed past his chest. Before the older man could recover his stance, Remy threw his body into a forward shoulder roll then a flip until he reached the hallway. He broke into a run as soon as he saw Warren barrel out of the room. The guy's expression was such a good study of controlled fury that Remy did the one thing guaranteed to get on his last nerve.

He pointed at Warren and laughed.

Yeah, that did it. The Winged Wonder Boy was going to get his Ralph Laurens wrinkled today, Remy thought as he vaulted over the banister, adjusting his somersault so that he landed on the second floor railing. Re-centering his gravity, Remy straightened on his precarious perch for a second before stepping off. He caught two of the sturdy wood balusters on the way down, twisted and flipped back up to the second floor landing just as Warren hurtled down to the ground floor, his wings barely keeping his speed in check.

He needed to stay indoors, Remy concluded, where the Flyboy wouldn't have the advantage. Hopefully some place well-populated, too; he really couldn't see Worthington losing his cool in front of a bunch of kids. If memory served him right, servants' stairs sat in the back of either wing. He could take those as a short cut to the kitchen or the library and he could hang out with the kids until Worthington gave up for the day or Scott showed up, depending on which happened first.

Still chuckling to himself-- the look on that Albino Chicken's face when he jumped down the stairwell!-- Remy sprinted to the east wing. As fun as it was to rile Worthington up, he still had to find Scott's stash. He'd try again in a couple of days when everyone calmed down a bit.

_Remy_, the professor's voice was clear and icy blue in his mind. _I need to have a word with you_.

* * *

If they had nothing else in common, Cyclops and Remy reacted to high tension situations in the same way: They relaxed. 

More specifically, their bodies relaxed. The change was subtle in Scott, who didn't tend to be emotive anyway: the lines bracketing his mouth disappeared, his breathing became deep and even, his entire body stilled down to the hair. Remy, on the other hand, appeared nearly asleep. Already quite fluid normally, he lost all semblance of having a skeletal system as he draped himself diagonally on the council chair, one leg on the table, the other bent nearly around his neck.

After a week of searching, Xavier finally called them into the council room to report his findings. The fact that it took him a week to gather information was not encouraging.

"If I'm understanding you correctly, Professor," said Cyclops, "you're saying that Adam's mutation has catalysed."

Xavier nodded, his eyes trained on the map of the United States projected on the main screen. "Correct. Not only did I find his biosignature in the mutant range but his thoughts were... scattered."

"Hell, that's normal for Adam," said Remy. "When he can manage to think more than two thoughts at a time, that is."

This time, Remy's remarks failed to elicit a smile from the professor. "I meant that his mind felt as though it was in many places at once, like a jigsaw puzzle scattered through the countryside."

"Still sounding like Adam on a normal day."

"Could his mutation be similar to Kurt's?" asked Cyclops.

"Possible but unlikely," replied the professor. "Mutations in siblings are usually similar-- you and Remy both have energy-based mutations, for example."

"But what about Pietro and Wanda?" asked Jubilee.

"They are a rare case," the professor said, "If teleporting required some sort of mutation on the atomic level..." He hummed thoughtfully then shook his head and said, "In any case, the connection to Adam tended to fade as though something were suppressing it. A few times, I lost him only to find his mind in a different city in the human range."

Storm watched the trainees who were earnestly listening to the professor. She'd seen similar expressions on the faces right before mid-terms. Was that healthy? She didn't know; her academic life in Xavier's hadn't involved exams and projects.

While Logan and Kurt were present, she and Cyclops were the only teachers in the council room. Beast was rarely on active duty, Warren, never since he took over part of his family's company, and while Kelly was aware of the goings-on in the sub-basement, as a non-mutant, she didn't think she could contribute much unless, she joked, it was as bait. Rogue, Piotr, Jubilee, and Bobby also sat in on the meeting although Cyclops had always given them a spiel about passing training before going on real missions.

"Couldn't that, like, be because he's a new mutant?" asked Jubilee. "Our powers all spazzed when they first come in, right? I mean, I know mine totally whacked out for a couple of hours but every time I tried to do zap something on purpose, zip."

"An excellent theory, Jubilee," said Xavier. "I considered that as well."

"But?" Cyclops prompted.

Xavier exhaled deeply. "There's a pattern in the fluctuation, one that is too consistent to be discounted as a catalyzing mutation."

"Consistency and Adam; that _is_ weird," said Remy. "Unless you count consistently forgetful."

Studying the map, Storm said, "Most of the points seem to be here--" she tapped the monitor, "-- in Nevada."

"But that's only if you count mutant hits," said Cyclops. "It's smaller than the red, but the largest number of human hits is in Georgia."

"So let's go to the one with the mutant hits," said Logan. "If the kid's playing around with his powers, it'd make sense that he has a homebase. Maybe he's got to envision places like Wagner there."

All eyes turned to Kurt for his input. "When I was younger," he began, "I would never teleport farther than the perimeter of the camp. Visualisation is necessary to be a world-class acrobat but the idea of forgetting even the slightest detail worried me. I once teleported into the wrong tent because I did not _see_ my destination very clearly in my mind."

"It's only a guess," said Cyclops, "but a guess is all we have to go on."

"So what's the plan?" asked Remy

"We go in, we grab your kid brother, we get out," said Wolverine. "Seems pretty simple to me."

The younger Summers cocked an eyebrow at him. Wolverine was used to One-Eye giving him that disdaining look but coming from a punk band reject, it was a helluva lot more insulting.

"So what's the plan?" Remy asked Cyclops again.

"How's your aim?" Cyclops returned the question.

Remy flourished his fingers then, with several rapid flicks of his wrist, pulled four throwing knives seemingly out of the air. Pulling his arm back, he let the knives loose. They embedded themselves on the opposite wall in a column, each blade exactly one inch apart from the other.

"You could've just said 'I've been practicing,'" said Cyclops wryly.

With a shrug that was Storm now thought of as his signature move, Remy said, "Now where's the fun in that?"

Rogue exchanged grins with the other trainees.

Cyclops fiddled with the keyboard. The map closed in on Nevada, the distance between each dot widening. "What about your other hobby?"

"I've been practicing," Remy drawled.

"Good. Then you have reconnaissance duty. I want any connections with Adam-- online buddies, friends and their relatives, theatre companies-- as well as any possible threats. I want buildings, land owners, local businesses..."

"Partridge in a pear tree," Remy ended. "As a bonus, I'll give you the sheriff's porn collection."

"Whatever floats your olive."

"What do the rest of us do?" Logan asked.

"We can't do anything until Remy comes back with information," said Cyclops. "But the security system needs checking while he's gone."

"Hell, I haven't even really canvassed the place," Remy said. "What can he do?"

"You'd be surprised at the amount of destruction Wolverine can wreak."

Wolverine extended his middle finger.

"You'll need a partner," said Cyclops.

"First you think Adam's just having a temper tantrum now you're telling me it's dangerous enough to need a partner," Remy said dryly. "Make up your mind."

"I _do_ think that Adam's having another temper tantrum," Cyclops said as he began cleaning up the council table. "But if his power's catalysed then you're going to need a little bit of help taking him home. I don't care what Hank says, when I hit you with a blast, you get hurt."

"Says who?"

"Says the bruise I gave you last time we met up."

Remy exhaled. "That little red tap didn't bother me. I got that from a particularly enthusiastic date."

"Spare me," said Cyclops. He consulted his agenda. "Storm and I have to be here to interview more teachers and we can't spare someone for seven days." He tapped his pen against the device's edge. "Take one of the junior members."

"What?" Remy boggled for a moment, his perpetual grin failing him. "Did one of them put a whoopee cushion on your seat or something?"

"They just seem to be under the impression that being an X-Man involves daring escapades and life-or-death situations."

"Gee, I wonder how we got that impression," Bobby whispered to no one in particular.

"They all need a lesson in staying still," said Cyclops. It was difficult to be sure but he might have been smiling. "Except Piotr. He's pretty good at that."

"How am I supposed to get anything done properly with a trainee?"

"It's scouting, Remy, not D-Day. You'll be fine."

Remy secured his shades and slouched deeper into his seat.

* * *

Standing on the edge of a lava flow imbued a sense of power. No matter how often Alex watched the glowing stone ooze into the water, heard the crackle-hiss of the ocean, felt the infernal steam blast his skin, he'd never get tired of it. It was like being transported back in time to the millennia when the Earth was in one of its more mobile phases. 

Technically, he wasn't supposed to be on this team he was still an undergraduate. But the professor was ex-military and anyone who was anyone in the armed forces had heard of Corsair Summers and his prodigious Y-chromosome count.

"Scott! Come over here, m'boy!" The professor-- Dr. Leighton-- waved him over from where he stood at a higher elevation.

Alex rolled his eyes but climbed up. "It's Alex, sir," he said when he reached the older man's side. "Scott is the eldest. He's got brown hair."

"Ah, of course, my apologies." Leighton brushed his moustache in an embarrassed manner. "I'm afraid I'd transferred by the time you were born but Chris always brought little Scott around. The child could take apart any machine you put in arms reach, neat as you please."

"Yeah, Scott's always been very technical."

"Of course. It's in the genes. Your dad used to modify our planes. He used to-- ah, what is that word you kids use nowadays?-- ah, yes. Pimped them up. You're all very good at pimping up jets, cars and the like."

Alex didn't bother telling him that he could barely change a tire, never mind a jet. "Yessir. That's Dad."

Thankfully, one of the grad students announced that the temperatures had lowered sufficiently to make some measurements. The reminiscing ended and the real work began. Alex quickly snapped his protective coveralls closed and checked to make sure his boots and gloves were fastened tightly. Even the smallest spark from a stray burst could burn straight through muscle in a manner of seconds. The heat cauterized any wounds but it would hurt like hell while it happened.

The work was hot and sticky, even more so than summers usually were in the tropics. To Alex's discomfort, Leighton hovered, taking his side in a lot of the disagreements but he promised himself he'd make it up later especially to that girl helped him sketch down a conclusion to his group's assignment.

He explained the situation to Lorna later that evening while they hung out at a low-key pub ten minutes' walk from campus. The Blue Lotus wasn't five-star but she was practical about things like that. The necklace and the hokey card that came with it more than made up for missing their lunch date for the field. Sometimes, it paid to listen to Remy. Just sometimes.

She didn't mind that their friends were over either since he met them all through her. With a beer in one hand, his girl in the other, a position in the grad school all but in the bucket, and his buddies slowly but resolutely getting drunk along with him, Alex couldn't be happier.

One of the girls from the expedition-- Marianne? Miriam?-- approached their table. Alex smiled tightly at her and would have called out an inane greeting but she beat him to it. "So you're Leighton's little Ganymede," she said, scornfully flipping one of her pigtails over her shoulder.

"What's a gannymeed?" Lorna asked her seatmate softly but not quite soft enough for the newcomer to ignore.

She rolled her eyes and turned to her two companions. "Great minds. I always knew the military circle-jerk went far but I didn't know they let their kids in on the action, too."

"Alex, don't!" Kim made a valiant grab for his friend's arm to try and hold him back but Alex was too fast and too far away.

"What did you say?" Alex crowded the girl, using his height to his advantage.

Marianne/Miriam's friends, two properly husky guys-- one in a ludicrously loud dragon shirt, the other looking like he could go three rounds against a raging bull-- closed ranks around her. "Hey, brah, what's the deal? Getting in a girl's face?"

"If she can't take it, she shouldn't hash it," countered Alex. He was still taller than these guys but they had bulk. "I'm an equal opportunity trasher."

The big one on the right puffed up. "You calling my girl trash?"

"Nobody's calling anybody trash," Kim said, bravely shoving an arm into the fray. "Look, guys, we're all way too sexy to get into this so--"

"I may be trash, but at least I'm not sucking off my daddy's cast-offs." The Marianne/Miriam slipped out from behind her bodyguards. "Do you know how long it took me to get into this program?"

Alex sneered. "Not my fault you don't have what it takes."

"Bullshit," she said. "I have what it takes. I could have a goddamn position in the department right now if Leighton wasn't such a mysogenic relic. But of course, when one of his air force buddies pays him a little night visit and asks for a favour for his son--"

"My dad has nothing to do with what I can or can't do!"

"Tell it to someone who'll believe it."

"Fuck you, whore."

A fist roughly the size and weight of a granite bookend, slammed into Alex's jaw. He spun with the hit and came back around with his own. He connected but the boyfriend didn't move. Alex tried again, this time with a chop to the neck but the dragon-shirted guy came around behind him to capture his arms. Alex lifted his leg then rammed his heel down on the other guy's foot. The guy released him, howling as his toes cracked.

Unfortunately, this only made the boyfriend angrier.

"Oh, shitcakes," Kim groaned as he dove in to help. "Lorna! Mike! Someone get the cops!"

Lorna was already at the bar, yelling for the bouncers. She knew Alex wouldn't stop fighting until someone was unconscious.

As Kim fended the dragon-shirted one off, Alex and the boyfriend concentrated on pummelling each other. The boyfriend had gotten a few good shin-kicks in but Alex had retaliated with a blow to the kidneys. Alex threw another gut punch but the guy just took it expressionlessly. He aimed another hit to Alex's face but Alex twisted away from it only to get his head snapped to the side with a left hook. Alex shook the darkness edging into his vision and let his fists go wild.

He caught the other guy with an undercut then again with a knee to his side. But while Alex was bent over, dragon-shirt rammed an elbow into his spine. Alex staggered, almost dropping to his knees, but Kim-- who'd shaken the bouncer off-- jumped in and tried to lock dragon-shirt into a half-nelson. The boyfriend took that opportunity to kick Alex's knees out from under him. Alex slammed into the floor, his lumbar screaming as the concrete joined in the conspiracy to get him down.

The boyfriend managed to get one good stomp in Alex's gut before the bouncers came in, hoses on full-blast. As he sent a prayer up in thanks, Kim paused. He could have sworn steam rose from Alex's body when the water first hit. Dragon-shirt must have hit him hard.


	10. Past Interlude 3, San Diego, CA, 1995

**Past Interlude #3 - San Diego, California - 1995**

* * *

He was supposed to help Scott out. Alex fumed as he watched Remy, oh so charming Remy, place his hand at the base of Selina Ki's back. His thumb barely brushed the skin under her waistline but Selina curled against him anyway, like a cat around a catnip pot. They laughed in unison, heads angling closer. 

Taking a deep breath, Alex forced his fists to uncurl. He couldn't keep from stomping though, nor could he smooth the scowl from his face.

"Remy," he said. He thought he spoke at a normal tone but it might have been a yell.

Remy looked up, shades slipping down. "Hey, baby brother."

Diplomacy had never been Alex's forte. He felt too much on the surface. "Remy, you ass, what are you doing?"

Selina looked like she bit into an unripe worm. Remy whispered, "Give me a sec," in her crystal-bedecked ear then grabbed Alex's arm. They frog-marched to the corner of the block.

"What the hell are you doing?" Alex growled. "That's Scott's girlfriend!"

"Her?" Remy snorted. "She's everyone's girlfriend. I'm checking her out for Scott's safety."

"Bullshit."

"I am!" said Remy. It was great how he well he faked emotions. He should have been an actor if it wasn't for his eyes. "You think I want Scott to go out with some skank-ho who's using him to get better grades?"

"You fucking liar. You just want her for yourself."

"I'm doing Scott a favour. Now he knows that she's no good for him."

Alex shoved him away, refusing to rub his arm although it throbbed. "You're so full of shit. I bet you even believe what you're saying."

Now Remy's eyes went thunderous. "Go home, Alex. You're too young to understand any of this."

"I'm telling Scott."

"Knock yourself out, Zippo." Remy dismissed him with a curt gesture. "Me, I'm going back for evidence."


	11. Green

**Green**

* * *

Rogue shifted from one leg to the other, making a game out of kicking her bag every few beats. Bobby stood beside her, holding her hand almost too tightly while Jubilee nattered on about the mission. 

"Omigod, I'd, like, totally die if I was in your place," she said. "Seven whole days in a car with Remy is, like, my ultimate dream!"

"I thought your ultimate dream was to sing with RhadaSquat," said Rogue.

"Dude, RhadaSquat's got nothing on Remy." She winked. "Make sure you accidentally on purpose fall on his lips for me, mmkay?"

Bobby's lips curled down and he swiped at Jubilee's arm. "Not cool, Jubes."

"Oh, she can totally keep you on the side, Popcicle."

"Jubilee!" Rogue squawked. "Please; it'll be completely professional."

"Uh-huh." Her friends cracked her gum. "Not if I was in your place. Mr. Summers and Dr. Grey got together remember?"

Rogue's eyes lowered.

In a near-whisper, Bobby said, "And look what happened to them."

"Still, you're totally lucky," Jubilee said, trying to return the playful mood by infusing her tone with even more glee than usual. "You get to get out of here while I have to re-do English and Geometry and Trig." She rolled her eyes. "In the worldview, who needs Geometry anyway especially since I'm totally going to be a career X-Man."

"What happened to RhadaSquat?" asked Bobby.

"That's my secret identity."

Logan ended any rejoinders Rogue or Bobby could have come up with by tapping Jubilee on the shoulder. "Munro's looking for you two," he told her and Bobby.

"What for?" asked Bobby.

"Do I look like a PA system?" Logan demanded. "Ask her when you get there." He watched them careen down the hall before turning to face Rogue, chewing viciously on his cigar.

"I'll be fine, Logan," Rogue said, exasperated. She knew that expression. "It's just a little scouting."

"Yeah? Well, I know how boring reconnaissance gets." Logan bit down on his cigar, wishing he could inhale some of the rich, relaxing smoke. "If he even looks like he might think about possibly getting fresh--"

"Logan!" She punched his arm. "I have a boyfriend already. And besides, he's Mr. Summers' brother; he won't do anything."

Logan snorted. "I don't care if he's related to the Pope. A guy like him picks a girl like you for a mission, there's only one thing on his mind."

Rogue crossed her arms. "I guess it has nothing to do with my skills or anything, right?"

Hmmm. Rewind, re-do. "I didn't mean that, Marie, I just meant..." He sighed and gripped her shoulders. "I don't like the idea of you going off on another hair-brained mission when you've had to deal with it twice in the four months you've been here. Hell, this was supposed to be a safe home for you. Some place to kick back and relax and not think about anything but math tests and book reports instead of soldiers and spin-kicks."

Placing her hands over his, Rogue said, "I want to go, Logan. It's real field practice. I can be more helpful to the X-Men after this."

Letting out a harsh, quick snort, Logan nodded. "There's still the matter of his hands--"

"Oh my gawd!" She pushed him away. "Stop it already! Flattering as it is for you to think that every guy within a mile radius wants to do me, he's as old as Mr. Summers and he doesn't even know I'm female."

"Sure I do." Remy ambled down the stairs with a backpack slung over one shoulder. "That's why I chose you. Young college guy going road tripping with his girlfriend before going back to school. No one's gonna pay attention to that."

"You shaved," Rogue said lamely.

Logan's hackles went straight up.

When he first arrived, many of the school's occupants found it difficult to tell who was older. Scott Summers had always looked younger than his age and with his whiskers and sun-lined face, Remy appeared older for all of his immature posturing. His jaw and chin were now smooth and he was clad in the ubiquitous student uniform of jeans-and-tee shirt. Remy easily passed as twenty-three.

Then he tucked his shoulders down a little, flipped on a baseball cap and cracked his gum and his age sank down to twenty.

Logan's claws eased out between his knuckles.

"Heya babe," Remy said with perfect Valley intonations. "We've got to jet, like, now if we wanna get to Nevada before school starts."

"Oh, my lordy, you look like that captain of the football team back in my old school." Rogue snickered. "That's so weird!"

"Just call me Remy Summers, Master of Disguise."

"I was thinking more International Man of Mystery."

"As in 'dead sexy?'"

"As in 'that's not my bag, baby.'"

Remy's grin threatened to split in face in half. "Oh yeah, I chose good. Nothing more hellish than a boring partner when you're scouting." He loped his arm around Rogue's shoulders. "We can talk about boys, and do our hair, and paint our nails, and when we're done that, I'm making French toast!"

"Remy, I thought I'd explained differences between genders last week," said Scott as he came out of his office.

"Yeah, but girls get so hot about the whole boy-on-boy thing nowadays."

Logan's claws were fully extended and thrumming to get buried in something skinny, brown-haired, red-eyed, and named Remy.

"I'll drop you off in Delaware. Plane tickets--"

"In the bag," said Remy, patting his duffel.

"You've got one stop-over before you get to Carson City and you can make your way south by car from there," said Cyclops. "You need to develop a paper trail anyway."

"Can we narrow down the location to somewhere slightly smaller than an entire county?" asked Remy.

"I thought you'd be happy; Las Vegas is close to Nye County."

Remy winked at Rogue. "Here that, babe?" he said, reverting to the Valley accent, "We'll like totally be all laaaaapdaaaaance, and shit."

Patting Rogue's shoulder, Cyclops said, "I'm so sorry for you. If you want an extra ten percent added to your math mark, just talk to me and we can arrange it."

* * *

With the lights off and the candles flickering, Lorna looked like a naiad, a water spirit. Her hair curled just at the ends; when she was naked, they framed her breasts, mermaid's locks against pearls. Adam reached up to brush it away, preferring to see his hands on them instead. 

He pushed a case of empties off the couch. They fell back on the threadbare but sturdy cushions, Lorna giggled slightly as Alex ran his hands up and down her sides.

"You are so goddamn sexy," he whispered, flicking her hair away to access the pulse at her neck. "Every time I see you, I want to touch you."

"Hmmm." Lorna arched back, pleased. "Let's go to the bedroom."

Alex grinned. "Nuh-uh, baby. Right here, right now."

"Alex!" She looked around nervously, almost expecting people to pop out from behind the room's sparse furnishings.

"What? Window's closed, door's locked." Alex nipped at her neck. "No one here but us."

Lorna pouted. "Your couch is too small."

"We can make it work."

"Alex, really, I--" The phone rang. Using that as an excuse to sit up, Lorna asked, "Shouldn't you get that?"

"Hmmm, the phone or you?" Alex weighed the two options in his hands. "The phone's not looking good, babe."

She crossed her arms, hiding the most gorgeous breasts in the Pacific. "You've been waiting for that other country club to call you for work. This could be it."

"It's seven at night!"

"Alex!"

"Fine, fine." Sighing, Alex stretched to grab the telephone. "Summers."

"Alexander Summers?"

"Speaking."

"I hope you don't mind my calling this late," said the voice on the other line, "but your consulting professor gave me a copy of your resumé and I thought you'd be perfect for my lab."

"Really? Hey, that's great," said Alex. He shifted slightly to the right, unseating Lorna but keeping his hand at her thigh. "Um, who exactly is this?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." The person on the other end forced a chuckle. "This is Julia Bridgerton. I'm with the _Sunsnatcher_, researching rock recycling and reformation."

"The aquatic lab just off the coast of Ni'ihau, yeah." Now truly interested, Alex slid closer to the phone. "Your team was the one that published the article on forearc metamorphism."

"That's right," said Bridgerton, sounding pleased. "That was only published a few months ago."

"I try to keep up to date."

Sighing, Lorna rolled off the couch and pulled on a shirt. Once Alex got going on rocks, there was no speaking to him.

Alex was also searching for his shirt and failing since he had his eyes were glued to the phone. "What can I do for your, Dr. Bridgerton?"

"Like I said, I'd like to invite you to work for the lab," Bridgerton said. "We have an opening for some an assistant-- mainly sitting on your arse for weeks on end staring at squiggly lines and numbers until you go daft."

"I'm already daft," said Alex, "I can handle it."

Bridgerton let out a sharp laugh. "Very well then. Why don't we arrange an interview, just for formality's sake, and then we can get cracking."

"That'd be great." Alex spent a few more minutes on the phone arranging times and places then hung up, unable to stop grinning.

"Good news?" asked Lorna, sliding up close again so their thighs and hips and shoulders touched.

"The best," replied Alex and shared the details. To his displeasure, Lorna didn't seem as excited as he was about the prospect of working on a first-class off-shore research lab.

"The _Sunsnatcher_ is a really popular lab," she said. "Our professors fight for a seat; why would they pick-- I mean, not that you aren't smart but..." Lorna faltered, seeing the fire behind Alex's eyes.

"But what?" he demanded, shooting up to his feet. "What exactly are you saying?"

"Nothing," said Lorna soothingly. "I was just stating a fact."

"That I'm not good enough for the _Sunsnatcher_?"

"No!" Lorna cried out. "You're twisting my words!" She tugged at his arm but he shook her off.

"Forget it." Alex jerkily gathered his clothing. "I'm going to the gym."

Less than five minutes later, with the sticky tropical breeze shuffling through the palm trees and the salt air clearing his senses, Alex regretted shouting at Lorna. He couldn't bring himself to return yet, however, so he kept going to the gym. The one closest to his apartment was open twenty-four hours, catering to the strange hours of the university students.

The manager didn't blink when Alex strode through the front doors. The kid had a lot of demons to fight. She was only glad that he took it out on the punching bag instead of a real person.

* * *

Four interminably long minutes until take-off. Remy amused himself by cataloguing the potential worth of the passengers around him. Tailored suit, discrete highlights and matching luggage: in the upper hundred thousands. Baggy sweatshirt with designer sweats and the latest runners: ten thousand tops. Rhinestone shades and animal print handbag topped with a face-tearing ponytail: broke as a dog. A flight attendant passed by, maroon skirt pressed perfectly and stocking seams pointed straight to the money. Remy flashed her a grin. She returned it a little shyly. 

His seatmate, Rogue, fussed with her blanket as she watched the clock. She started off pretty timid but he could see possibilities under all that hair. After three or four years on the vine to ripen, she should be pretty ripe for picking. Meantime-- Remy adjusted his shades-- that flight attendant was sauntering back.

Rogue poked his side. "You're supposed to be my boyfriend," she whispered. "Stop flirting with everything in a skirt."

Remy patted her knee. "That would mean not flirting with you," he said, "'cause I distinctly remember seeing something flowery and skirt-y on you when we boarded."

"Everyone but me then," she amended. Blowing strands of newly-dyed hair from her eyes, Rogue picked up the in-flight magazine, flipped through two pages, and put it back. Then she began an in-depth exploration of the overhead control panels.

"Stripes, I can only flirt with people who flirt back," said Remy.

Rogue flushed. "Sorry. It's just the first time I've ever done this and..." She chewed her lip. "I'm feeling bad about Bobby," she whispered. "Y'know, being his girlfriend and all."

Remy ducked head closer and ordered her to do the same. "You got the window seat, which is safer, but that means when we're talking, everyone else here sees your face. You gotta get more into it."

"I know but--"

'But nothing, Sugarplum." He reached over the armrest to loosely hold her hands. "We went over our stories with Bobby. He knows this is all pretend and he said it'd be okay."

"Yeah, like he really means it," said Rogue, wrinkling her nose.

"I ain't any more comfortable than you," Remy pointed out. "Never been caught dating jailbat."

"I'm eighteen in February."

"Don't make that much of a difference where I'm standing, Stripes." Letting his shades slide down a bit, he winked at her. "C'mon, just give it a try. Pretend I'm Bobby if you have to."

"That's just the thing," said Rogue. "I don't have to think about flirting with Bobby. I don't even know if we flirt. We just kind of... hang out."

"Ah, high school love." Remy raised his eyes to the ceiling. "To be that innocent again. Okay, Stripes, I'm about to give you a quick rundown on how we flirt in the big bad world. First of all, you gotta keep looking me in the eye."

"You're wearing shades."

"Don't matter. We don't even have to touch a lot as long as we keep eye contact."

Rogue stared deeply into the twin reflections of her own face.

"Not bad," said Remy. "But with more feeling."

"I can't stare with feeling," she said.

Remy leaned back for a moment to rethink his strategy. "Okay, how about this: Who's your favourite actor?"

"Orlando Bloom," Rogue replied quickly.

"You and a frillion other women--no, no, wait, I'm kidding, Stripes." He nudged her knee. "Okay, you've just turned twenty-one and your friends decide to take you to a nightclub to celebrate. You've dancing it up, shakin' your booty when suddenly, you bump into Orlando."

"And immediately absorb his British accent."

"No powers. No boyfriend," Remy clarified. "You're young, you're hot, and this equally hot actor is lookin' at you like you're a tall drink of water when he's been trapped in the desert for a week. Now you know it probably won't turn into love but, hell, you might as well get a good story out of it, right?"

"Right."

"So, what do you do?" He leaned away from her, resting his elbow on the armrest and did cultivated a jaded expression. "I'm Bloom and you're five people away from me on the bar and the music is blaring so you gotta scream at the person next to you and three other women are pawing at my jacket." He flicked his shades back up to cover his eyes.

To her credit, she didn't quite roll her eyes. Cupping her chin in her hands, Rogue lowered her eyelids a smidge, and peered myopically at him through thick brown lashes.

One dark brown eyebrow arched. "Peaches, you look like you're falling asleep."

"What am I supposed to do then!"

"Keep it simple," said Remy. "Just look him in the eye and don't stop, not even when he looks back. Especially when he looks back. You can have whole conversations with looks if you can maintain it."

"Okay, Don Juan," Rogue said with a sardonic twist of her lips. "So now, I've got Orlando Bloom's attention. Now what?"

"Well, then you just let him know that you're a helluva lot more fun than the squids around him," said Remy. "Grab your favourite drink and finish it off casual like. Keep smilin'. Keep looking him in the eye. Wink at him and then go back to dancing."

"How about a little of this?" Rogue tongue the corner of her mouth with the tip of her tongue.

"Maybe if you're in a café but no one'll see that in a bar," said Remy. "And if you showed enough tongue to be visible in a bar, you've officially crossed the line into skanky."

"Join the X-Men; flirt with stars."

Remy grinned. "Now you got the spirit, Stripes."


	12. Present Interlude 3

**Present Interlude #3**

* * *

One guy-- roughly his age, curly red hair, freckles all down his back-- always fought back when the orderlies came. Adam didn't know where the guy got his strength. He'd lost count of how many times they'd strap him into the table and lower that horrific version of a cow milker over his groin. Or pulled plugs of flesh from his legs and ass. Or drew blood. The guy kept struggling and the orderlies kept drugging him up or smacking his kneecaps. 

Adam preferred to lie back and think of England. British accents were so hot.

He counted time through sleeps instead of days. Not that it was very efficient but he had a general idea of how long he'd been gone: at least two weeks.

A new type of torture started up just a couple sleeps ago. He was thrown in a cell with another person. Most of the time, they were very obviously mutants. This one girl made him trip out; the ceiling felt like the floor which felt like running water which felt like it was spinning. Five sessions of that and Adam knew he'd never try junk stronger than cigarettes.

This round, a human tornado threw things at him. His aim sucked but those projectiles that hit-- damn! Adam missed the chick with the LSD-powers.

Obviously, he was the punching bag for a twisted version of Xavier's. Just his luck. Adam had envied his brothers' powers when he was younger; shooting gravblasts or making things explode came straight out of video games. This was the grossly unfair level of the game where the lead character practiced his moves on helpless schmucks.

If there was one thing Chris Summers taught his boys, it was how to fight back. Adam leapt to one corner of the room, leading instinctively with one shoulder. When the human tornado slowed, confused, Adam jumped him. His elbow cracked satisfyingly with the tornado's nose and the tornado stopped spinning entirely, staggering back and holding his bloody nose.

"You want to fuck with me again?" asked Adam. "Practice your aim. And for fuck's sake, throw something a little less stupid than pingpong balls."

Two sleeps later, tornado boy came back with a switchblade in each hand.


	13. Shedu and Lammasu

**Shedu and Lammasu**

* * *

By the end of the week, two of the four teachers they'd interviewed accepted the position and Scott had his fill of talking to people. The two new teachers would arrive in three weeks in order to have a month to prepare for the new school year. They still didn't have a nurse, a secretary, or an official groundskeeper but the idea of more interviews gave Scott a whopping case of procrastination. Logan or Kurt would have to keep doing the repairs until he recovered from this round and maybe he could turn the secretarial position into some sort of internship program for one of the senior students. 

The cook... crap, they were really going to have to hire a cook. No way could the Home-Ec class make enough food for a hundred fifty. He wondered desperately if any of the new teachers were handy with a stove.

_I don't know how many more times I can make spaghetti before the kids revolt_, Scott thought as he stood from the bed.

_I like your spaghetti_, he imagined Jean replying. _A little heavy on the meat--_

_The kids need it for their metabolism_, Scott responded, as he always had before. _Especially the energy-based kids. Did you know Jubilee ate a half a loaf of bread this morning? With peanut butter, apples, celery, and Kool-Aid powder as sandwich filling?_

_Well, at least she gave a nod to the fruits and vegetable group. Don't move those!_ Scott quickly returned the medical journals he'd been tidying to their place on top of Jean's night table. _I'll put it back when I'm done reading them._

_You keep saying that but you never do._

_Remember our deal,_ He could almost see her squiring her smile into her "lecture face." _You can keep your half of the room as neat as you want as long as I can keep my half the way I want._

"I don't know how you managed to keep from picking up the wrong instrument in the operating room," Scott said out loud as he crossed Jean's (messy) side to get to the closet.

_It's my special type of organized._

He slid the closet door open then, perturbed by the silence, turned the stereo on. The CD player buzzed, clicked, and soon Alicia Keys pounded out her opinion of a woman's worth on a baby grand. Scott wasn't a huge fan of R&B-- the lyrical content was too homogenous for him-- but Jean had loved the young singer saying that after hours of thinking at the hospital or in the lab, she needed plain, beautiful music to help her unwind.

The music played until he left the room.

Thick summer air leaked through windows and doors cracked open. He'd have to talk to the kids about air conditioning bills, probably at dinner time. They'd have to start formal assemblies soon or maybe set up some sort of PA system but from what he remembered, those announcements tend to be ignored. The professor could always send telepathic announcements... Scott smiled to himself at the mental image of the professor mentally humming a bell-tone before sending a list of forgotten homework and lunchroom menus.

Cold water splashed up his pants. Scott looked down at the spreading puddle coming from an impressive pile of iceballs. Several yards away, Bobby and Jubilee poured every ounce of cute they could muster into their grins.

"Do I want to know?" Scott asked.

"We were testing our reflexes," said Bobby.

"I wanted to see if I could paff his snowballs in mid-air," Jubilee said, "and then he wanted to see if he could freeze my fireworks in mid-air."

"First of all, since your powers are energy-based, Bobby would have to move at a molecular level to freeze them," said Scott. "For another, the floors can't take this much water and fire. Take it outside."

"But it's so hot out there," Bobby protested. "She'll have the advantage."

"Then sign up for time in the gym. Not in the main building."

"Yessir," said Bobby as Jubilee saluted. "Thanks for not telling the professor."

"Who said I wasn't?" asked Scott, but there was no edge to his voice.

With classic teenage enthusiasm, they ran roughly in the direction of the pool annex. Scott continued down to his office. Cook, secretarial position as an internship, PA system or possibly an assembly procedure--

"Mr. Summers?" Piotr skulked timidly in front of Scott's door. Well, as timidly as Piotr _could_ skulk. "Are you busy?"

"I have time," said Scott. He unlocked the door and ushered him in. Piotr didn't have to duck to get through the door but it was a close thing. Nineteenth century architecture didn't foresee six-foot-eight teenagers. "Have a seat while I put my files away."

Piotr waited silently, watching Scott straighten pencils and tuck away papers to his satisfaction.

"Okay, what's the problem?" Scott asked once he was seated.

"It's about the art scholarship I've received from Lord Braddock's Trust," said Piotr. He focused intently on a tear on Scott's blotter. "I can't take it."

Scott's forehead furrowed. "Have you changed your mind about going to U-Penn in September?"

"No, I..." Piotr took a deep breath to marshal his courage. "I really have to find a job. I need to send money to my family."

Ah. Wanting to stay unthreatening, Scott didn't move closer. With his voice pitched low, he asked, "How is your sister?"

Piotr's lip tightened. "She is... not doing well at all. Her medical bills and Father's combined are... I won't give up the chance for college, sir, but I can't right now. I need work and I need a degree that will guarantee work."

"Pete, with your skills work will stampede through the door."

"There's no guarantee for that," Piotr said. His fists threatened to make kindling out of the armrests. "Not in art. And even if it does, I've still got four years before I graduate. Meanwhile, my father's not getting his medication and my sister's--" He clenched his eyes shut, took a ragged breath. "I appreciate everything you've done to help me, Mr. Summers, but I really can't accept the scholarship."

"You won't be happy if you don't follow this through."

"If my sister's healthy, then I'll be happy." He jutted his chin out, resolved.

Slowly, quietly exhaling, Scott rested his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers. "Before you enrolled here at Xavier's, you were working full-time, correct?"

Piotr nodded cautiously, not understanding the turn in the conversation. "Yes. Construction and... well, whatever else I could get."

"And if I remember correctly, the terms of your admission was that you'd be enrolled in a post-secondary institution as soon as you graduated."

Piotr's shoulders sank. "Are you saying I could still get kicked out of Xavier's this late?"

"Yes," said Scott. "But you won't. I'll be damned if I'll let your place in the Guggenheim's walls go bare. So let's make a deal."

Piotr could only blink dazedly.

"The school needs a groundskeeper," Scott continued. "You've had experience in construction and carpentry so you pretty much fit the bill plus I know that I can trust you to be discrete. But--" He pointed a finger at Piotr. "-- you have take at least two Distance Ed classes while you're working, courses that will go towards your fine art degree."

"You can do this?" asked Piotr in a hushed tone.

"I'm the deputy headmaster," said Scott. "I'll have to run it by the Professor but I don't see any reason why he'd say no. You can start as soon as I have copies of your registration papers. You'll be signed on as full-time staff so that means your immediate family will also be covered under the medical and dental benefits. Are you going to be okay with getting calls in the middle of the night?"

"Yes, sir," Piotr said, unable to process the information yet obliged to form a reply out of politeness.

"Good. You might want to check if U-Penn has a Distance Ed option. I know that St. John's does; you received an acceptance letter from them too, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"So you can decide between the two." Scott snapped the papers aside and laced his fingers. "Is there anything else?"

"No, sir." Piotr started to stand up but Scott waved him down.

"I actually have one thing to ask from you."

"Would you like my left leg or my right?" asked Piotr.

His earnestness made Scott smile. "Nothing quite that extreme. I was just wondering if your mom was a good cook."

"I think she cooks very well," Piotr said, confused by question. "Perhaps not like the restaurants in the City but she's always kept us very well fed."

"Can she cook balanced meals for a hundred and fifty kids, seven permanent staff, and the occasional visitor and/or hanger-on?"

Piotr's eyes went glassy. He swallowed several times, with great difficulty. "Sir, are you offering my mom a job, too?"

Now it was Scott's turn to be unusually concerned with the tear on his blotter. "I'm having a hell of a time looking for a staff that we can trust with the kids, not to mention the sub-levels. It just seems to be the best option: the school gets taken care of, you can maintain your scholarship, and the hospital is less than fifteen minutes' drive away. Plus, after a few years, you should have enough saved up to go to school full-time. It's so perfect I don't know why I didn't think of it in the first place." He glanced up at Piotr.

The boy was still frozen in a crouch, half-standing, half-sitting, completely stunned. If Scott had donned a tinsel wig, grown a tail, and sung drinking songs in perfect Finnish, Piotr would have been no less shocked.

"Piotr?" Scott rapped the desk. "Is this set-up okay with you?"

"I'd have to be crazy to turn it down," said Piotr in hushed tones. "Mr. Summers, you are... the best... I don't know how to thank you. I... I don't have the words."

Scott blinked in response. "Um. That will do actually." He coughed. "Don't think this means I won't wake you up to fix the plumbing at three in the morning. You don't know the things that get flushed down the toilet."

* * *

The girl had a cactus fetish. Remy didn't know why Rogue had an intense need to take photographs of everything. Nevada didn't even have the interesting cacti that looked like giant dicks. 

"I thought they were supposed to be tall as trees," said Remy. He crouched on the ground inspecting a small group of plants that resembled balls of yarn. Woolly balls. Heh.

"There are different kinds of cacti, silly. Maybe we'll get to the tall ones later." She wiped the sweat from under her hat. "I wish we'd come earlier though. Most of them just have fruit now."

"We'll come back in the spring," said Remy. "You can have as many flowering prickly things as you want. Hey, look, that one looks like a dick."

"You're impossible."

Three and a half media cards and two hundred zig-zaggy miles later, one pioneer town started looking like the next and Remy was starting to wish he took Bobby the Human Popsicle instead. Rogue winched her skirt boave her knees and fanned herself with her hat. Keeping covered must be a bitch in this weather.

"Why are we going back to Kelsey?" asked Rogue.

"Something feels off there."

She plugged a laptop into the car's power supply in order to transfer the pictures from the camera. "Should I be looking for something while I'm going through your pictures?"

"Are the pictures the most important part of the surveillance?" Remy asked.

"Apparently they aren't," said Rogue. "Okay then, so what are we supposed to be doing?"

"Watching. Listening." Remy turned down the radio. "Looking for things that ain't quite right."

It was like pulling teeth. "Like?"

"Like you and me." Stratified hills drew closer, softening the deep blue sky. "College kids on a road trip together before the new school year starts. What's wrong with this picture?"

Rogue looked around. The rental car wasn't new, nor were their clothes the height of fashion. Two stuffed backpacks slumped in the back seat with a small suitcase that hid less legal surveillance equipment. Superficially, they held more clothes and a few textbooks. The sleeping bags, rolled carelessly, were streaked with dust from the times Remy insisted on camping out. The scent of gas clung to them if you sniffed hard enough.

"I give up, Obi Wan Makscruffy, what are we missing?"

"Hickies," Remy answered succinctly.

She leaned away, pulling her sleeves down over her bare hands. "Uh-uh. You, dirty old man; me, jailbait, remember?"

"Peaches, you got a whole lot of potential but I am _not_ that hard up for women," Remy said. "But it's true. We need hickies."

"Couldn't we be chaste college students on a roadtrip?"

"And if you believe that, I got a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you." Smirking, he said, "I won't touch you, Stripes. You just have to be real flexible and give yourself a hickey. Up here." He smacked his biceps. "Make it nice and big and obvious."

"So I look like a ho-bag and you get off scot-free." Rogue shook her head. "You have to give yourself a hickey, too."

"Whatever you say, partner." Without warning, Remy pulled over the side of the road. He rolled up the sleeves of his T-shirt and, after pinching the area viciously, he bit down on the meatiest part of his left bicep.

"Did I kiss you or eat you?" Rogue asked, laughing.

"You look like a biter," said Remy, pausing momentarily. "Come on, it's your turn. Big and obvious."

Chuckling and unable to stop, Rogue lifted her right arm up and started to suckle on the paler, tender side.

"You look like you're sniffing your arm pit," said Remy.

Rogue let her fist fly. "Stop it! I'm having a hard enough time doing this."

"I'm gonna smack your boyfriend up for not teaching you the finer points of hickies," said Remy. "That's just sad."

"He can't exactly help it," said Rogue.

"Hell with that! I know a girl in San Francisco who could do things to me through six layers of clothing that no bikini could even compare to."

"Gee, that's exactly the kind of skill I want on my resume," said Rogue. Without warning, she yanked viciously at her skirt. "I can't take it any more, Remy. I'm going to die without air-conditioning."

"It's almost sundown, Stripes." He shouldered a small pair of binoculars and the digital camera. "I'll get our camp ready; you go on with the other camera and have a look around to see if anything's off."

"Cacti without hickies?"

Remy reached over to ruffle her sweaty hair. "That's why I'm keeping you around, Sugarplum. You're quick."

"I'm beginning to think you chose me 'cause I got you caught breaking in."

"That too." He laughed when she lobbed a pebble over his head. Yeah, he knew she'd be fun to have for surveillance. Not as twitchy as Jubilee or Bobby but not as serious as Pete. Collecting data had to be the most boring part of a job, especially one that didn't guarantee a pinch.

Well, actually, this was one job when he wouldn't mind skipping a pinch because that meant that Adam was really in trouble.

Remy shook the thought off. They pulled into the outskirts of Kelsey in time to see a cavalcade of jeeps enter town. End of the workday meant they could camp watch the mine from the car. By the time Rogue returned with an empty bottle of water and two dozen pictures, he had the tent set up with the portable grill warming.

"I'd kill for a banana split," Rogue sighed as she accepted a cup fo coffee.

Remy wagged his finger. "Not until you fetch dinner from the cooler."

Heaving a beleaguered sigh that let him know exactly how tortured and abused she was, Rogue fetched. "Harry's down by Salem Centre has banana splits as big as your head. He smothers it in whipped cream. Pools of fudge, strawberry syrup, and pineapple sauce. Mixed crushed nuts. Real cherries instead of maraschinos."

"You're gonna have to settle for spicy ramen, Stripes. That stave off the homicidal tendencies for a while?"

"I could live if it was sloppy joes."

"Again?"

"I _like_ sloppy joes!" Rogue said, hands at hips.

"Obviously, since we had it dinner last night and lunch today. Meantime, I got a dozen packs of perfectly good ramen noodles going to waste."

"You over-spice everything."

"Puts hair on your chest," said Remy solemnly.

Rogue rolled her eyes. "We've got a couple cans of chicken noodle soup. How about that?"

Blowing out resignedly, Remy nodded. "Good thing I packed tabasco sauce."

"I'm amazed coyotes haven't come sniffing at us, strong as you eat your food."

"It repels them," said Remy. "I'm way too spicy to eat but you..." He clucked his tongue. "Might want to hole up in the car tonight, Peaches." Rubbing his whiskers, he added, "Your shoulders are looking a little too pink. You been putting on sunscreen?"

"Yes, Dad." Rogue laughed as she dragged a blanket near the hotplate and took a cup of coffee, inhaling the scent gratefully. "You've been bugging me about sunscreen since we landed."

"If you weren't so damned pale, I wouldn't bug you so much. You should tell Scott to let you all out for a breath of air once in a while. Not everyone's as big a nerd as he is."

"In my old school, I had a friend who had a younger sister," Rogue said. "They were exactly like you and Mr. Summers. They looked alike enough but acted like complete opposites. Is that how it always is with brothers and sisters?"

"Guess so," said Remy. "He as hard-assed with you guys as he was with us?"

"I don't know." Rogue shifted on her blanket. "He's like all teachers, I guess except he actually knows how to teach which is a big help."

"'Course he does; Scotty knows it all." He handed her the pot. "You watch the soup. I'm gonna look through today's pictures after I take a leak."

"Whatever you say, boss."

"Boss." Remy stroked his chin. "I like that."


	14. Past Interlude 4, Everett, WA 1994

**Past Interlude #4 - Everett, Washington - 1994**

* * *

Adam didn't like hissing. Scott and Remy always hissed when they fought. They hissed and told themselves that no one else could hear it but Adam could hear it. He heard things real good. 

The five-year-old crouched at the top of the stairs, gathering his knees to his chest as he pressed an ear to the wall.

"Grab his legs," Scott grunted.

"I _have_ his legs," said Remy, who also sounded winded. "Keep your half up."

"Did he swallow a friggin' truck with his rum? Holy shit."

"Cut the man some slack, Scott. It's the anniversary--"

"I know which anniversary it is, fuck you very much. I told you to keep an eye on him."

"How could I keep an eye on him when he goes into a pub? I'm underage."

"Yet somehow, you managed to get into the night club right beside it."

"I got him home before dawn, didn't I?"

Scott grunted again. Something crashed. Something breakable by the sound of it. Adam broke a window once and it sounded like that. "Great. Now we have to clean that up along with the piss in the porch."

Remy sniggered. "You gotta admit, he did scare off Mrs. McNally's damned cat."

"Yeah, laugh it up. I'm going to make you clean it."

"Aw, c'mon Scott!"

"Hey, keep both hands-- don't let go--Remy!" There was another crash, a big huge one that sounded like _whhhhump_! with lots of little crashes and tinkles afterward. Adam risked peering down through the stair slats. The couch lay on its back with Dad half draped on it, snoring away. Scott jumped over Dad's legs to get to Remy who was lying in the middle of what used to by the glass-topped side table.

"Oh, shit, Remy! Don't move, okay? Don't move! I gotcha." Scott ran to the kitchen and pulled out a bunch of dish towels. Dashing back to the living room, he grabbed a pillow from the couch and threw it on the floor beside Remy before kneeling down. "Are you okay? Does anything hurt?"

"My arm." Remy had his eyes squeezed closed. "My arm's all cold. That's a big cut if it's gone cold like that."

"No time to be hard-core."

"Who's being hard core? I _am_ thug life, remember?"

Adam hugged his knees tighter when he saw two bright red streaks flow thickly down Remy's upper arm. His arm was shaped wrong; it looked bumpy. A pink triangle poked out of one side-- Adam knew it was a triangle because they did shapes in school last week and Scott quizzed him with funny little flash cards that sometimes had bananas on them and if Adam said "banana" before Scott could hide the banana picture, he got yellow M&Ms.

With Scott's help, Remy gingerly got up and went to the dining room on the other side of the stairs. Adam slid to the opposite wall to keep hidden.

"I'm calling 911," said Scott.

"If we call 911, they'll ask about Dad and the rest of us and the booze and he'll get discharged," said Remy. His eyes were still squinched shut. He opened his fist and, with his teeth gritted, closed it again. Blood pumped out of the wound.

"Screw a court marshal," said Scott. "If you don't get stitches on that, you'll damage something. That's your dominant hand."

"I'm ambidextrous. Jerk off with both hands."

"Not completely. Right-Hand Rhonda's a little less enthusiastic." Scott rolled two of the towels into little hoops. Placing them on either side of the glass, he said, "Hold on to these while I bandage you up."

"How do you know about Right-Hand Rhonda?"

"One of your girlfriends complained."

"Hah-fucking-hah." Remy drew breath between his teeth. "If he gets court marshalled, we could get thrown into foster homes," said Remy. His hand hovered close to the wounded arm but because he still had his eyes closed, Scott had to lead him to the ring bandage. "I've done foster homes. It's shitty."

"You're being pessimistic," said Scott. "That's my job."

"If they break us up--"

"No-one's breaking us up and no one's getting a court marshal so shut the goddamn hell up." Scott swore a few more times as he fumbled with the makeshift bandage. "I'll go wake Alex and Adam up so we can all go to the emergency together."

"Tell the cops that it's only tonight," said Remy. Adam had never heard his voice sound like that-- all high-pitched and almost... almost like the voice he used when he wanted extra syrup on his pancakes. "Tell them about your mom's death anniversary and that he only gets drunk on that day."

"Remy--"

"Scott, _please_, damn it, you fucking tight-assed, goody-two shoes nerd!"

"I will. Relax." Scott wiped the blood from Remy's hand, the one that had been holding the bandage. "Turn your head. I think you hit it on the table leg. I'll get you some ice for that."

"I'm fine if we get separated but Adam needs to stay with one of you guys--"

"Remy, get a grip." Scott's voice was softer here, not high-pitched like Remy's but somehow they sounded the similar. "I'll take care of everything, okay?"

Not satisfied with that response, Remy shook his head wildly. "-- sometimes they'll keep you all in the same city. Adam's too old to get adopted--"

"How many times do I have to say 'relax' before your feeble mind understands?" Scott moved behind Remy's chair and held the younger boy in a tight one-armed embrace. It looked more like a wrestling hold. Carefully, like he was afraid he'd get hit, Scott wrapped the other arm around Remy's shoulders. "Everything's going to be okay. I haven't let you guys down yet, have I?"

Adam pressed his forehead to his knees and let out a relieved sigh.


	15. Something Creepy This Way Comes

**Something Creepy This Way Comes**

* * *

Remy hiked to the ridge over looking the mine, glancing over his shoulder to check on Rogue every few minutes. She was stirring the soup and going through the pictures on her camera. He wondered if she'd be up for a card game; he still had to win back the pennies he lost to her a couple days ago. Somebody taught that girl to play a mean game of poker. 

He'd just ducked behind a boulder to see to his business when something about the scene below tickled his senses. Remy squinted, wishing he had telescopic vision instead of explosive touch. Most of the huge lamps were dark, like dying pines. Titanic digging machines rested under a pair of canopies resembling blankets thrown over giants. Two smaller single lamps lit the building that marked the entrance to the mine but their harsh yellow beams revealed nothing.

Not taking his eyes from the mine, Remy plucked a pebble at his feet and threw it at Rogue. He heard her start and he gestured for her to come over.

"What?" she whispered.

He pointed down at the darkened buildings. "This far from the city, where do you think they get electricity?"

"A generator, I guess."

"Do you hear any generators?"

Rogue strained to hear the low buzz of an engine. "They could have a really high-tech generator."

"To light those up?" Remy asked, pointing at the nearest spotlight. "We'd hear something from the lights at least but nothing. No heat waves coming off the ground either."

"That's not right." She crouched closer to the edge of the ridge. "It's been hot all day; there has to be heat waves. You sure your eyes aren't tricking you?"

"You can see for yourself."

"We should be taking videos of this," Rogue said after a few minutes' observation.

"Smart girl." He headed back to their campsite to fetch his camera. "Let's get a little closer."

"How?"

"We climb down, of course."

Gulping down her apprehensions, Rogue tucked the hem of her skirt into the beltline and followed Remy's slow descend into the ravine. Although he chose the most moderate angle of descent, she still felt loud as an elephant. Sand and bits of stone stuffed her nose; it was all Rogue could do not to cough. Throughout the climb, she felt an itch at her back, like her body was anticipating a blow. She jerked when Remy tugged at her skirt folds.

"You okay?" he whispered.

"Fine," she replied. "Could do this forever."

He patted her knee and continued. When she finally reached the base, Rogue resolved to train on the rock wall a lot more. Her lack of upper body strength was frightening.

They clung to the cliff walls, giving the wide beams of light a wide berth as they made their way to the opening. The stepped formation of an open pit mine changed to a tunnel mining at three hundred feet; the building sheltering the entrance grew out of the walls like succulents from rocks.

Remy slipped a thin, palm-sized case from his back pocket. Rogue had a brief impression of a dozen slender handles before Remy chose three and hid the case away again. He wedged one of the tools between his lips then inserted the remaining ones in the door lock.

Rogue tapped his arm. "Alarms?" she whispered.

He shrugged. "Might be cameras but it's too dark to see anything important."

"Night vision? Infrared?"

"Stripes, this is a mine, not a government facility."

Rogue's lips pursed. "I could tell you stories."

He flashed a quick smile then turned back to the lock. In a few seconds, the tumblers clicked hollowly. Remy peered into the windows and, apparently seeing nothing amiss, cracked the door open. He felt around the jamb. No wires or laser receptors.

He gestured her in with two fingers. "Breaking and Entering 101: Step where I step."

Sand, fine as dust, whirled up to their ankles as their feet disturbed the loose gravel on the floor. Windows on either side of the building sent fat beams of light into the small space but they weren't enough to banish the darkness. Rogue had to blink a few times to follow Remy especially when her gaze shifted from the dark tunnel in the back to the windows.

Just as they reached the mouth of the tunnel, Remy faced her and tapped his camera. "No flash," he told her.

"Then how will they work?"

"The cams have night vision. Use the video option; I'll worry about stills."

The tunnel was something out of an Indiana Jones movie. Rusty tracks and rickety cable cars slept in the darkness.

Rogue pulled on Remy's sleeve. "I can't see anything."

He fumbled in his pockets. There was a tearing sound and a snap then a dim orange glow lit Remy's features. Rogue barely stopped herself from screaming. With the harsh lighting and his red-on-black eyes, he looked like something out of a horror movie. He handed her the glowstick, grinning, well-aware of her thoughts.

"C'mon, Stripes. Let's go spelunking."

The glowsticks only gave them a four foot field of view. Remy held his high while Rogue kept her low, ensuring that they wouldn't get any nasty surprises as they walked on. Rogue wished she'd changed into pants; every time her skirt snagged on a rock, she was sure something was going to fall on them.

They travelled on a slow incline. The brighter mouth of the tunnel seemed to float above their heads but only after the longest fifteen minutes in the world. The darkness was starting to take its toll on Rogue.

"Do you see--"

"Shh!" Remy hissed harshly. He pointed his finger straight forward.

At first, Rogue couldn't see anything. Then, in the distance, she spotted steel door.

"Not that," Remy said when she was about to head in that direction. "That."

Rogue tilted her head back. There, tucked in an outcropping was a tiny, red, blinking light.

"What is that?"

Remy squinted. "Motion detector." He swivelled his head around. "There too." He held the glow stick higher. "And there's the camera."

"Do mines usually have those?"

"Beats the living hell outta me, Peaches, but let's err on the side of paranoid." Crouching down, he picked up three pebbles and charged them. One flew straight to the camera, the explosion small enough to take out the lens. In a second, the motion detectors were similarly disabled.

Remy then felt around the walls and found a panel that Rogue couldn't have made out if she had a flashlight in the daytime. A flash of the cutters and a few twists of the wrist later, he turned back to her with a self-satisfied grin.

"Let's go, Sugarplum, double time. If there's anything here other than gold, we need as many pictures as possible." Remy pressed his ear against the door, his eyes closed in concentration. "Pretty thick," he whispered. A dollar bill appeared in his hand. He tore it into eighths and handed Rogue half.

Each small square of paper glowed a dim purple. They crackled in Rogue's hands. She had a million questions: How did Mr. Summers' brother know so much about picking locks? Why were they bothering to enter this place? Why did a mine have motion detectors and a steel door? And, most of all, was she ready to go through something like this so soon after Alkali Lake?

"Been doing great so far, partner," said Remy as he wedged his makeshifts explosives in the doors. "Here's Breaking and Entering 102: Hydraulic locks. Slip one even between the hinges and the door seam."

Rogue set to work. She'd bank those questions for later. Right now, she had to answer the growing glow of accomplishment.

* * *

Dusk in Hawai'i was more encompassing than in San Diego. Southern California seemed to reject the night to the point of fearing it while here, it was as accepted as the sun. Not that it was safe, but the muggers here tended to stab you in the front. 

He meant to head for Lorna's dorm but his feet refused to obey him. They knew how much of an asshole he'd been the past couple weeks; they wanted nothing to do with the apology that surely had to pass. Not yet.

Taking a weed-strangled path around the campus hub, Alex secured his backpack then stretched his legs into a jog. Despite the fact that he had just spent all night weight- and weapons-training, he still had excess energy. He always felt hyper these days. Maybe it was the idea of finally graduating or being completely on his own but Alex was getting serious case of ants-in-the-pants that nearly rivalled Adam's.

Not that he'd ever admit the similarity out-loud.

Nocturnal eyes peered out at him, glowing with moonlight. Alex grinned, paying them no mind. They actually comforted him, again so different from SoCal.

If he hadn't raised his hand to wave at the lizards and stuff, he wouldn't have seen the knife. Painted matte-black, it would have stayed hidden in the bushes unless the moonlight caught it at just the right angle. Alex cursed and dove to one side.

The knife disappeared into the leaves soundlessly. Moments later, its owner dove out of the greenery. Alex had a second to register the make of the knife-- a pretty sweet KA-BAR with a thicker-than-usual handle-- before it breezed by his jaw. Alex let his body fall back in a natural arc to escape the close shave. Literally. He felt the slight sting of a dry-shave. Gotta love those KA-BARs.

Alex tumbled back, using a shoulder to control the roll. He didn't hear footsteps following him but that didn't meant that his attacker was gone. He threw himself sideways just in case. And a good thing too. Alex got his feet under him just in time to see feel air whoosh past the spot where his ribs would have been two seconds ago. He whipped a leg out, catching his attacker around the ankle.

To his surprise, the attacker made a quick, smooth hop and recovered. Alex blinked. Okay, this was not your average mugger. Ebay could explain away the knife but throwing aside one of the best moves in judo? This guy was SEAL-trained.

Why the ever-loving fuck was a SEAL mugging him?

Scott and Dad would tell him to run. Hell, Remy would have run as soon as he saw the knife. Alex drew a pair of sais from his backpack.

"Lookey, lookey," he said, twirling the blunt, three-pronged weapons confidently. "Mine's bigger than yours. And I've got two."

His attacker reached back to his own belt. Alex didn't wait for him to draw out another weapon. He feinted a stab to the gut and, when the other guy lowered his arms to block, he flipped the other sai around, aiming the butt of the stem towards the vulnerable hollow under the chin.

The guy bowed backwards. Alex blinked in disbelief. He only knew two guys who could do that and while his two older brothers always seemed to be pissed off at him, they would never come at him in the middle of the night. Hell, if they were that mad, they'd kill him in person, not send a masked-lackey.

"Who the hell are you?"

The attacker didn't answer but then, Alex really didn't expect him to. For a few seconds, he contemplated running. This guy was out of his league. Years of indoctrination kicked that thought out of his head. _He_ was out of _everybody's_ league, goddammit, if only as a result of being raised third in the Summers Dysfunction Show.

So when he backed away from the black-clad attacker, it wasn't to escape. He had to get his bag. Alex successfully blocked a side-stab and a hooked jab but the latter left him open for a knee in the kidneys. A blast of fire roared down Alex's spine and he sucked air into his quickly deflating lungs. He hated kidney hits. No one ever did them properly so he hadn't hardened himself to the pain. Fortunately, he stumbled into his backpack.

As Alex kicked the attacker away, he groped for an open pocket on the slippery nylon. His hand made contact with a well-worn plastic handle. When the attacker came back for another strike, the matte-olive nozzle of a GLOCK 22 greeted him.

Ha. Sucker.

Alex slowly stood up. "Okay, asshole. Who are you and why the hell are you trying to kill me?"

"Orders," said the attacker, preternaturally calm for someone who had a gun aimed between his eyes.

"From who?"

"From people you don't want to mess with."

Alex snorted. "Dude, you let a civvie pull a gun on you. Not exactly an expert move." He cocked the gun. "I could pop your grape right now."

Even through the mask, he could see the attacker smile. "But you won't. You want to know why I'm here first."

"Gold star, noob. You've got ten seconds."

"I only need five," the attacker shot back. "Tell your brother to back off."

Alex opened his mouth to ask "Which brother, asshole?" but a stinging cloud of pepper dust blew into his eyes. Gagging on the pain, Alex stumbled back, fighting not to rub face.

By the time tears cleared his vision, the attacker was gone, leaving Alex just as pissed off with his brothers as he had been when he first moved across an ocean to get away from them.

* * *

In the movies, the guy would be covering the girl when the explosion hit. In this case, the opposite was true. Remy read up on Rogue's powers; she had some sort of healing factor from Tall, Dark, and Hairy and a little left over magnetic powers from Erik Lensherr. She was better equipped to give the two of them cover when the door blew out. 

"Wait," he whispered as Rogue started to get up from her crouch. He had to make sure the alarm hadn't tripped. Of course, there was the chance that it was a silent alarm but he wouldn't worry about that yet.

He tapped the video cam in Rogue's hand and raised his eyebrows questioningly. She nodded and showed him the steady red light near the lens. Flashing a brief smile of approval, he gestured her forward.

She followed directions well, copying his body movements. Was that innate or something that came from her powers? Whatever it was, she had potential. Too bad he was too busy to take an apprentice; he'd offer in a heartbeat.

Remy had no real idea of where he was going, just a general sense of building construction. People instinctively turned to the right first which was why most front desks lay to the right if not directly in front of the entrance. Architects always designed buildings in this manner, consciously or not, so Remy took the first right.

It was all corridors in all directions, smooth taupe drywall intermittently broken by flashing amber and green lights the size of his palm. Military installations tended to form concentric circles for faster access to all points whereas most other buildings worked on the familiar grid pattern. Remy bet on the side of military; if they kept walking down this hall, they'd hit an arterial corridor eventually.

He glanced at Rogue to make sure she was holding up okay. She held the cam steady at shoulder level. Her gaze met his confidently but with that sheen of excitement that he knew too well. He winked, crooked his finger at her then straightened it in the direction he intended to go. She nodded.

Taupe worked well for security cameras. They didn't reflect light as harshly as white but provided enough contrast for dark colours. Unfortunately, they were also immensely boring. The corridors seemed endless with neither doors nor intersections to break the monotony. Remy saw their video cam drooping in his peripheral vision. He reached back to tap Rogue encouragingly.

The intersection, when it finally appeared, took them by surprise. The floors were the same colour and the even lighting fooled the eye until you almost hit the wall. Remy quickly peered around the corner. This new hallway had dozens of shadowy alcoves indicating other corridors or, even better, doors.

They passed by five taupe doors and three taupe hallways before footsteps forced Remy to break pattern. He dodged into a hallway, pulling Rogue beside him. He felt for the door lock. A card scanner. Of course. He slipped the scrambler out of his wallet. It took two swipes but the doors clicked open and not a moment too soon. He and Rogue ducked into the room just as voices filtered down the hall.

Remy leaned up against the wall, his heart thundering, his eyes closed, and a smile playing on his lips. Bungee jumping just couldn't top this kind of rush.

"Oh, my gawd."

Remy opened his eyes. His smile disappeared.

A huge glass cylinder bubbled sluggishly before him. A small person curled within it, naked and poked through with so many tubes they seemed part plastic. Rows of the glass cylinders hung between metal poles like a macabre pantry in a giant's kitchen.

"Are they alive?" Rogue whispered. She reached out.

"Don't!" Remy slapped her hand away.

The person in the jar spasmed. Rogue covered her mouth to muffle her own scream.

"This is seriously fucked up shit," Remy said softly. He backed away slowly, pulling Rogue with him.

"We have to help them," Rogue insisted.

"Stripes, there are dozens of them," said Remy. "How much you want to bet they're hooked up to alarms? Hell, we don't even know if they'd survive out of the jars."

"But we can't just leave!"

Remy nodded. "No, we can't." He tapped her camera. "Take pictures. I'll see what's down there."

"But--"

"Shh!" His eyes glowed briefly. "Now, Peaches. Before we trip any alarms."

He didn't tell her that he was afraid they were too late. Something this big did not have a mere card-pass for access. He figured they had five minutes to gather as much information as possible and another three to get the hell out of Dodge. After that, they would be lucky if security just used guns.

Looking back at Rogue snapping away, Remy's lips thinned. He forced a voice screaming "Mistake! Major fucked up mistake!" to the back of his head along with the one hollering "Don't leave the newbie alone!" Rogue could take care of herself; Scott trained her after all.

The landscape was Adam. He might be pickled in one of these jars. Remy was going to find him and to hell with the consequences.

He should have known even thinking of the worst would bring it about.


	16. Present Interlude 4

**Present Interlude #4**

* * *

Somewhere above, an alarm went off. Adam ignored it. His whole body prickled, like hundreds of electric fleas jumping all over him. He wished he could blink away the dryness in his eyes. How could his eyes be dry if he was submerged in watery gelatin? Adam's head hurt too much to ponder the question long. 

There'd been a guy with knives again. He thought they'd only been two knives but they felt like a dozen. He shouldn't be in a tank; he should be in a hospital. The taste of blood lingered in his mouth, the metallic tang clinging to his cheeks and tongue. He wanted to lick it away but the plastic feeder tube kept his tongue flat and his throat blocked.

Blobs of white, grey, and black frantically merged and parted beyond the glass. They moved too quickly, their babbles penetrating the liquid until Adam could catch the odd syllable.

"... increase..."

"... secure..."

"... switch..."

Something was wrong. Adam stirred sluggishly.

Something was wrong.


	17. For Earth Doth Not Bear Fire

**For Earth Doth Not Bear Fire**

* * *

There was a particular intonation to the words "Scott, help" that was stung every nerve in the body. Scott hated the desperation and absolutely loathed the way his stomach knotted and his lungs stopped working for all of three seconds before years of training numbed it all down. 

"I'm here, Remy," he said. He held the phone firmly although he really couldn't feel his fingers. "What's up?"

Static-- please let that be static-- interrupted Remy's words. "I'm thinking it looks like a helicopter, three Hummers, and a whole frickin' platoon of black ops."

"Where's Rogue?"

"Right beside me." Remy hissed an oath. "She's kinda... hurt. I think she broke a few fingers."

"Stay on the phone; I've got to lock onto your location."

"You see a whole lot of booms in the middle of Nevada and that's us."

The jet hummed in the hangar, prepped for what was supposed to be a practice run for Storm and Piotr. "Would you like me to come?" asked Storm.

Scott shook his head. "We're just going to retrieve. Besides, I want to kick Remy's ass myself." He turned to look for Hank. The older man bounced up the ladder with a backpack of medical goodness.

"Ready to roll, fearless leader," Hank said cheerfully.

"Good. Get everyone settled so-- Logan, what are you doing?" Scott demanded as Logan marched into the jet.

"Same as you," he said. "I'm going to kick that little twerp's ass."

"That little twerp is my brother and no one kicks his ass except me," said Scott. "I have blood claim _and_ I can do it better."

Logan marched right back down and shoved a callused finger into Scott's face. "Well, he got Marie hurt. I shoulda known better than to leave her with someone like him. If she's bleeding, One-Eye, I'm coming after you too so you'd better--"

"As amusing as it is to listen to this, I believe time is of the essence," said Hank lightly. "I believe I've checked everything, Scott. We can go as soon as you've strapped into the pilot's seat."

The jet broke the laws of physics to get to Nevada. The booms were thankfully absent if not the remains. It was too dark to see the land clearly but clouds of dust and smoke rose up to fog the windshield. Desert dust thickened as they closed into Remy's commelink signal. They were staying in one place which meant they were safely hidden. Or unconscious. Or had dropped the commelink. But Remy would never drop anything on purpose so Scott set his jaw firm and coursed through the sky.

"Send off a reply beacon," he told Hank. "I have to land in the canyons."

If Remy figured out how to accept a reply beacon, he'd be able to follow it back to the jet. Rogue also knew about the commelink's functions so she'd be able to interpret if she was conscious. Just in case, Scott and Logan suited up and made their way to the small town.

In the end, it wasn't necessary. Remy and Rogue met them at the outskirts of the town, a mile away from the local necking park. After the adrenaline of the distress signal and the flight, the clean retrieval left Scott humming with excess emotions.

"Hi, Cyclops," said Rogue, her smile wobbly. "I think we made real progress."

He wished he could say something in reply but Scott could only focus on the way she cradled her left hand. The fingers were definitely broken; a bulky roll bandage tented over what he assumed was a protruding bone.

"Get in the jet," Scott snapped. "We don't have much time."

Rogue's eyes widened but she hustled away. Remy threw him a glare which Scott returned. He didn't care right now if they were all pissed off at him. He wanted to get them medical attention and safe in the mansion ASAP if he had to knock them on the head and lug their unconscious bodies into the Blackbird.

Logan's growls punctuated the jet's small cabin, filling the space from the cockpit to the mini-clinic where Hank McCoy gently examined Rogue's injury. Rogue had nearly chewed her lower lip off trying not to scream. Her broken fingers trembled in anticipation of more pain.

"I'm just going to put some local anaesthetic," said Hank, his voice a soothing purr. "Look away or close your eyes if you want; you'll just feel a little sting."

Logan instantly appeared at her side, shouldering Remy away. The younger man's eyes flashed but he backed off, shoulders thrown back as he tapped a cigarette out of a pocket and wedged it at a corner of his mouth. Seeing that he wasn't needed, he walked stiff-legged to the cockpit and slid into the co-pilot's chair.

"What the hell happened?" asked Scott as soon as Remy strapped his belt on.

"We hit a little snag in the recon," Remy said.

"What kind of recon includes explosives?" Logan snarled the question.

Remy drew a card out of a sleeve pocket and tore a corner off, charging it between his fore and middle finger until it incinerated into a flash of magenta, yellow and orange.

Rogue plucked at the sleeve of his uniform. "Logan, please, it's okay. It's just part of the mission." She tried for an indifferent shrug but grimaced when the movement shot pain down to her left hand.

Logan cupped her head in his gloved hands. "The hell it is."

"I'll handle this, Logan." Scott didn't turn but his voice was implacable. "Remy, what the hell kind of recon involves explosives?"

"It got a little complicated," said Remy. "But you should've seen the place we were at! The security system was nearly as good as the kind I set up here especially once we got inside--"

"Inside?" Scott glared at him. "You weren't supposed to go inside _anything_ without checking with me first."

"I been doing recons long before you started the Leather Squad, Four-Eyes."

"This isn't you usual gig, smart ass. You actually have to think of other people."

"Up yours."

"After you."

They didn't speak again until they reached the school's sub-basements where the staff and junior X-Men had already assembled. The only reason for an empty seat in the council room was Wolverine's agitation. Too many shadows flickered through his mind, roused by what he'd seen so far.

Remy headed straight for the A/V to hook up his equipment. In a few keystrokes, starkly clinical pictures flipped through three screens while one other screen played a dark, choppy video. Freezers full of specimen jars, shelves of body parts floating in preservation liquid, automated machines injecting blue-green liquid into thousands of trays, DNA arrays... all crisply labelled. White tag, black ink, Times New Roman font in twelve point, seven characters in each label.

The entire staff sat in the council room at two tables facing the front. Cyclops preferred his usual place, standing just to the left of the screens, hands laced behind his back. He didn't move throughout Remy's presentation.

"We got sixty-three pictures between us before we got sick," said Remy, finishing his brief. "It was like someone threw me on a roller coaster without asking me. Everything just twisted. We decided to get out of there before we damaged anything or set of another alarm."

"I've never seen a laboratory like this," said Hank. His eyes were glued to the TV screens, paradoxically repulsed and captivated by the scientific treasure chest. "Even in my wildest dreams, I could never imagine having this much equipment."

"Could this be government-funded?" asked Cyclops.

Wolverine's claws whooshed out and clicked in place.

Hank's brows gathered to a wrinkled V. "I wish I could say no but considering Wolverine's past, I can't be sure. No one private citizen could fund this, that's certain. Perhaps a conglomeration of interested parties..." He faded off, muttering about cycling probe technology and the cost of thermal cyclers.

"We also brought this back." Rogue pushed a thick collar to the middle of the table with her left hand. A make-shift cast cradled her broken fingers; she had refused to go to the medlab until after the presentation.

"You stole something?" Cyclops spoke his first full sentence since the brief began. His words were directed at Remy.

"I was the--" Rogue started but Remy interrupted her.

"I thought it would help us figure these guys out," he said. "I'd gone through the trouble of breaking in; I might as well take something. It could help."

"It could lead them straight to us," said Warren.

"You know anything about pulling a job?" Without waiting for an answer, Remy said dismissively, "Didn't think so. Go straighten your hair."

Bobby hid his face in his hands. Even he knew this was a bad time for humour.

"The labels on the tanks are coded." Remy continued the brief, fast-forwarding the slideshow half a dozen pictures to the labels' close-ups. "I managed to photograph some hardcopy files but I don't know how far we'd get cracking it."

"What are these?" Storm traced a circle around a dark blob in the third photograph.

Rogue's jaw stiffened. "They're foetuses. Frozen foetuses. I'm guessing they're about four months along."

The arm of Piotr's chair crumpled in his fist. He was red from embarrassment or anger; Rogue guessed the latter.

"Kelsey did not have a proliferation of dots," said Hank. "It could be that Adam used to be there but has since been moved to a different facility."

Warren's voice was carefully calm. "Maybe it's for stem cell research."

"Underground with foot-thick doors, armed guards, and space-age chemistry sets?" Remy said blandly. "There's a reason why they hold telethons for funding."

"How's your brother involved in this?" asked Bobby. "I mean, that's the reason Rogue and Remy went there, right? Do you think he's been kidnapped like... before? I mean, like with us?"

Xavier wheeled further from the screens to address the table, his gaze fixing particularly on the junior X-Men. "I've done a secondary scan of the area. It's strange; I can sense a trail of sorts, like a shadow imprint of Adam's biosignature but not as definite as before."

"So he got moved," said Wolverine. "Maybe these folks got jittery after the break-in."

"In one day?" Jubilee looked sceptical.

Kelly spoke up for the first time since coming in. "If the hardware is any indication, these people would have the money, manpower, and equipment to do that in an hour." She stood and walked to the screens. "Can you flip back about twenty pictures? Thanks. See these hinges here? Those are really basic modular connections. Snap it in; snap it off. With enough man-power, they could move everything in a day. It's all the rage in European design."

"We need to be certain that he's in there," Cyclops said. "The last thing we need is another failed mission. We should take a more in-depth investigation of this facility."

"If it's still around," said Remy, looking doubtful. "I'm beginning to think the vertigo we felt coming out was some kind of alarm."

"What kind of alarm makes you sick?" asked Logan.

"Theoretically, you're describing a sonic weapon," said Hank, "but engineering such a machine is still beyond current technology. It would have to either function at infrasound, below nineteen hertz. A sperm whale sends infrasound pulses to stun giant squids and there have been documented cases of people seeing visions or feeling nauseated when around machines which generate frequencies of eighteen to nineteen hertz. However, I do not believe you have anything to worry about until such weapons can be tuned to ten hertz and below. That frequency purportedly ruptures internal organs if loud enough." He rubbed his chin.

"All organs present and accounted for," said Remy.

"Except maybe your lungs," Warren said just loudly enough for his seatmates to hear.

The snicker Bobby held in check made a bid for freedom.

"What did you feel before the vertigo started?" Hank asked. "Rippling in your vision or cold sensations down your spine, perhaps?"

"The place... the facility was already cold," said Rogue. "But there wasn't really any kind of warning. Just... one minute we were fine and the next, I'd've given everything for some Gravol." She rubbed her scratched cheek absentmindedly.

Xavier settled back on his chair. "Very well then. I'll see what my contacts know--"

"We don't got time for your fucking contacts!" Remy exclaimed, smacking the table near Xavier. "If Adam's in there, if they're doing to him what they're doing to those things--"

"Remy!" Cyclops' voice was as sharp as a slap. "This isn't the appropriate time or place."

"I don't see a better one coming up."

"We're not going to help Adam-- if he _is_ part of this situation-- by going in half-cocked." One brow lifted sardonically and his shoulders visibly relaxed. "That's what got you in trouble this time around. You should have--"

"_If_ he's a part--" Remy forced a chuckle. "Everything I got screams that this is all sorts of messed up and you're talking about having half a cock? Christ on a--"

Cyclops began again, pitching his voice louder. "You should have contacted us as soon as you had some suspicions of--"

"-- cocktail, Scotty, that's just spineless! I thought you--"

"-- irregular activity, but no! You had to barge in--"

"-- had a little something in your sac but--"

"-- like some goddamned Bruce Willis wanna-be! Do you even--"

"-- obviously, Xavier sucked it out--"

"-- care that Rogue's hurt, or is she just collateral--"

"-- along with his high-class ho-bag--"

"You shut up about Jean!" roared Cyclops.

"I was talking about Worthington," said Remy slyly.

A red beam blazed through the room, forcing everyone to dive for the floor. Remy jumped out the way, throwing a handful of charged cards. Cyclops stepped aside, disintegrating the small missiles easily but as he did so, Remy slid over the table. With a casual kick and flip, he should have thrown Cyclops on his back but Cyclops proved too fast. He caught Remy's ankle and yanked him off the table, positioning his fist under Remy's jaw. Remy caught the fist, spun and twisted Cyclops' arm into an awkward angle.

Cyclops hit Remy's arm with an optic beam. As soon as Remy's hold loosened, he jabbed an elbow into his thigh. Grabbing a fistful of Scott's sweater, Remy concentrated on charging.

_That is enough!_ The professor reached into their minds, forcing them apart. Like badly made marrionettes, Remy and Cyclops stalked to opposite ends of the council table and plopped down on the chairs. _I will speak with both of you later_. Aloud, he said, "For now, we must come to a decision."

"Fine. I vote we go now." Remy met everyone's eyes, everyone who hadn't developed an inordinate fascination with brushed steel flooring.

Rogue, her lower lip chewed red, lifted her uninjured hand. The tight line of Remy's mouth eased slightly.

"I think it would be best to wait for more information," said Warren.

"I agree," said Storm. She tried to catch Remy's attention, to soften her decision with a sympathetic expression but Remy was glaring at his brother with enough force to match an optic beam. "No more than a week, of course, but it would be nice to prevent any more accidents."

"Good, two to one for waiting." Warren's wings flared as he walked to Cyclops' side. "Anyone else?"

There was an uncomfortable clearing of throats. Slowly, every hand rose. Xavier sighed, pressing two fingers against his throbbing temples.

Jerkily, Remy flipped his shades on and stalked out of the room. Throwing a pleading look at Wolverine, Rogue slipped out of her chair and followed him.

Bobby started out of his chair but froze on his feet, his need to be with Rogue warring with his desire for professionalism. Piotr patted his shoulder and forced him down whispering, "Later," in his ear.

Rogue peered down the halls. Hearing the shush of the elevators doors, she rushed in that direction and pressed the call button frantically. Remy was nowhere in sight when she reached the ground floor. She finally found him on a bench in the reflection pool, charging bits of gravel and throwing them in. Small showers of water rippled out at the pool. Every few seconds, he flicked ash from his cigarette onto the slate edging.

"Hey," she said softly, tugging at her gloves.

He tipped his chin at her but kept skipping rocks. She sat beside him on the bench, contemplating the way the sky broke into pieces on the water.

"We can work twice as hard as soon as they come up with more information," she said when he crushed his cigarette butt on the bench. "Make up for lost time."

"You're a sweet thing," he said, bemused. One corner of his mouth curling up into a reluctant smile, he lifted her hand to his lips. "Go on and hug your boyfriend before he tries to beat me up."

Rogue glanced towards the school to see Bobby framed against the French doors. She stood but looked back down at Remy, chewing on her lip. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Sure thing, Sugarplum." His eyes flickered uncertainly to her cast before he winked.

Scott passed Rogue and a perturbed Bobby on his way out to see Remy. He strode to the bench Remy had claimed and stood over him, arms crossed. "I need to speak with you privately."

"You got me confused with one of your students, Scotty."

"Remy. Now."

Remy pointedly flicked his cigarette on Scott's shoe. "When I'm ready."

"You're ready now." No one, not even Remy, argued with Scott when he used that tone of voice. They went, not into Scott's office, but in Xavier's which had a lock and soundproof walls. Scott headed for the windows behind the imposing oak desk, his body tilting as if to lean against the grills but he held himself stiff at the last minute.

"What do you think you were doing bringing Rogue inside that facility?"

Remy slid on top of the desk and rooted in his pocket for his cigarettes only to have Scott nip it from his hand.

"There's no smoking here."

"If you're going to give me Lecture No. 3028, you could at least gimme something for my oral fixation." He snatched the pack back.

Almost snarling, Scott yanked the pitifully crushed cigarettes back, the plastic and paper handful shedding dried tobacco leaves on the area rug. "Shut up with the sex for five minutes and tell me why you thought it would be all right to drag a seventeen-year-old with zilch experience into a hostile environment."

"Me?" Remy shoved Scott away with three fingers, hard, just over the collarbone where it would hurt. "I'm not the one training them to be part of the Vigilante Fetishists. _You_ were the one who told me to take one of them."

"To recon the area! Breaking and entering is _not_ reconnaissance!"

"Excuse me for wanting to get more information more quickly," said Remy. "Or did you forget that there's another seventeen-year-old who might possibly _be_ in one of those jars?"

"I'm sure that throwing a green trainee in there would have gotten us real far," Scott said. The desk stood between them now though they both leaned over it, ready to fly at each other as soon as the last straw dropped on this particular camel. "I'm not training them to be fighters; I'm training them to protect themselves. I have a responsibility for the well-being of the students in this school and--"

"What about your responsibility to your brother?"

"Stop making this just about Adam."

"Stop trying to ignore that it is!"

"I'm not!"

"Yeah, you are!"

"No, I'm--" Scott squeezed the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "I'm not going to get involved into another round of juvenile mudslinging with you."

"Yeah, there's news." Remy threw open the door.

Scott smacked it back closed. "We're not done talking."

"What, you want to spend more time with your brother when you got a whole school full of other worthier subjects in the house?"

"Cry me a fucking river." Scott rolled his eyes. "Every time you know you're wrong, you always fall back to cheap emotional appeals."

"Scotty, I got no idea what you're talking about." Remy raised his hands up but the sneer on his face belied the peaceful gesture. "I'm just getting out of your hair just like you want. Let me know when you feel you can condescend to interact with me and the rest of your real family. Maybe I can schedule you in for a quick lunch between meetings, hein?"

"Remy!"

But he had left, closing the door with a quiet but final click. Visibly shaking with the effort, Scott resisted the urge to throw a book. He really wanted to destroy something. The window was looking good. He even lifted a heavy volume from the Professor's desk, his fingers going white at the knuckles with the strength of his grip. But he put it down, wiped a nonexistent layer of dust on the cover and walked away.

_fini part I_

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you so much to all the readers and reviewers, especially those who've given me feedback to chew on while I write. Feedback is crack and sustenance all at once to the fic writer, as you all know, and it is VERY much appreciated. Part II is two-thirds finished as I write this. Hopefully you will all enjoy it too.

Much thanks to E for soothing my late-night (for her) panic attacks, beta-editing, and constant reprimands such as "Kill Remy and I cut you" or "No, you're not crazy for doing this mych psychological/astrological/naval-gazing research into comicbook characters." All the best twists came from her. Hugs to Fyrehcilde too for helping me act out certain scenes in the middle of the night at the local mall parking lot and not thinking anything was weird about having conversations in character. Fyrechilde makes the BEST Adam ever.


	18. PART II, JULY: 3 Intros to 3 Mysteries

**PART II - JULY **

**Chapter 10  
Three Introductions to Three Mysteries**

* * *

Sunshine streamed between suede vertical blinds, casting a pattern on the carpet that reminding Remy of a print he bought last year. In fact, if memory served him right, he bought that print from the owner of this thirty-eighth-floor suite. She owned a several galleries along the east coast that specialised in early twentieth century art. 

Remy's tastes ran the gamut from classical oil paintings to contemporary abstract sculpture but that wasn't the reason he bought the print. He was actually on the lookout for a good forger and this woman knew some of the best. The only reason Remy knew his print was a fake was because he was looking for it. And the reason why he was in her condo right now and using her internet connection as a base for his anonymiser was because she'd tried to stiff him one too many times.

Remy checked his palmtop computer for an update. Not quite a Blackberry but not as robust as a notebook, the sixteen-ounce rectangle flipped open to reveal a 320x320 screen buzzing with information. Thanks to the mark's laughably hackable connection and the scrambler built into the palmtop, the wireless signal was quite cleverly disguised. No one at the school would be able to find his bug in time.

Interesting reading, the school files. Xavier had so many connections mere business and family ties couldn't account for them all. Remy scrolled through a separate window. The student files were a great read too, especially the alumni. That Bavarian hamster bit was going to haunt them for the rest of their natural lives. His dream, however, was to hack into Cerebro which was why he was taking such good care of this little techie toy. Another few days and he'd have two of the five-part encryption code. Information that protected had to be worth a lot.

Three hours later, data safely tucked in his portable harddrive and another zipped and emailed to one of his protected accounts, Remy took his leave of the condo. As luck would have it, the nicest rack in Manhattan sashayed past him at that exact moment. A sign from Up There that he needed to be rewarded for a job well done. Remy figured he deserved to give himself a gift after the past month, what with setting up a crooked art dealer, looking out for Adam, _and_ retrieving valuable information.

Remy trotted to a hot dog stand and bought a jumbo chilidog, keeping her in his peripheral view. Jesus wept, those were some _nice_ boobs. Michelangelo couldn't have sculpted better ones. They had the little walking shiver to them too that was sadly lacking in fake breasts. There was something about a lacy camisole playing peek-a-boo with a suit that just drove Remy wild. You could see bare skin everywhere these days but hidden skin, ah, that was like coming down to a tree full of presents on Christmas Morning.

Power Sexy strode past the hot dog stand without looking left or right. Remy slipped the vendor a five and followed hr a discrete ten feet away. Just as she approached the intersection, he made his move.

"Cassie! Cassie, two-bit, don't you walk past me with that Big City stride." He dashed through the crowd to sweep her up in his arms.

"Let me go, asshole!" The woman rammed an elbow into his stomach. Fortunately, Remy knew it was coming so he tightened his abdominals even as he hunched over and gasped for effect. "Creep!" the woman added along with a decent right hook.

Remy pulled a horrified expression on his face. "Oh, my Lordy," he said, letting his drawl loose. "Oh, Lordy, I'm _so_ sorry, ma'am. I thought you were my cousin, Cassie. We were supposed to meet up on this here street an hour ago and from behind, you look just like her. Oh, shoot, look at the mess I made of your clothes." He pointed dejectedly at the chili splattered all over her suit. "Let me pay for your dry cleaning at least."

"Damn straight you will," said the woman, still stiff. "Get yourself some glasses, too."

"Yes, ma'am," said Remy, head bent in repentance. "And I'll just go over and play a little bit of traffic with the cabs 'cause I'm just so plum embarrassed, I don't think life's worth living. Mind giving me a little push?"

The ice around her mouth cracked. "Well, everything's jammed up. I don't think anything will hit you hard enough to kill."

"Right." He looked around. "Any nice buildings you think I can throw myself off of?"

"The Empire State Building's a little clichéd."

"Yeah."

"How about the Trump Towers?"

Remy grimaced. "No, ma'am, I can't do that to the competition. How about the Chrysler Building? That's got a great look-- Oh, excuse me, ma'am, that's my phone." He flipped on his cell phone which had been programmed to ring. "Cassie! Girl, where are you?" he demanded of the poor, innocent phone. "Yeah, I've been waiting long. I went and hugged a complete stranger, thanks to you! Yes, I know what New Yorkers think of that _now_."

When Remy threw his target a sidelong glance, she smiled back, unconsciously angling her hips to one side. Gotcha! He gave her a shy but exasperated smile as he continued his one-sided conversation.

"Yeah, well she's either gonna sue me or push me in front of a truck; I think she's still trying to make up her mind." He paused. "Couldn't you have told me that an hour ago? Lordy, girl, you're a trial." Another pause. "Fine, fine, if he's that 'hot' then go on and have coffee. Mind you don't let him get too... hey! I don't care if you've moved to the Big Apple, you're still my Cassie-twit. Yeah, yeah, you hush too. Bye-bye."

Remy snapped the cell-phone closed. "Well, that's solved that then."

"Kids," the woman agreed. "You should have seen me the first time I moved here. I couldn't get enough of everything."

"It's a fine city," he agreed, "when hicks aren't accosting you and smearing you full of beans. Let me just get my wallet so I can pay your bill. That'll be, what, forty, fifty--"

After a brief hesitation, the woman pushed his arm down. "Forget about it. It's not a real suit anyway; I can throw it in the laundry and it'll be fine."

"But I want to make it up to you," Remy said. "Take a twenty and buy yourself lunch at the very least. My treat."

The target placed one foot deliberately in front of the other so that her figure turned into a perfect hourglass. "If you really want to make it up to me, why don't you have lunch with me?"

Five hours later, Remy pushed the fine cotton sheets from around his waist and scratched at the bite mark she'd left on his bicep. A hand pressed against his back. "What are you doing?"

He plucked a condom packet out of thin air. "Just preppin' for a glorious evening with you, chere. You and these lovely legs." He traced the sweet curves of her calves and thighs with his eyes. His fingers mimicked his gaze much to his subject's appreciation.

"Hi, beautiful," he whispered in her ear as he drew spirals around her stomach.

"Hello to you, too," his bedmate purred. As she bent her other leg, the covers slipped off, treating Remy to a fantastic view of the Boobs from God. "I'm starving."

"So'm I." Remy nipped at her shoulder, making her laugh.

"I meant for food."

Eyeing a smear of raspberry syrup on the sheets, Remy said, "Me too." He hitched one of her legs over his shoulder. "And I know just where I want to eat."

She positioned her other foot at the crease where his leg met his torso. "Oh, really?"

He lifted her other leg over left shoulder. "_Mais yeah, cherie_." Slicking a hand between her thighs, he moistened his fingers then spelled his name across her stomach. Then he erased the letters with his tongue. Winking as he moved lower, he said, "Breakfast is served."

* * *

Even if Gen. Nicolas Fury still had two working eyes, he still wouldn't be able to believe what he was seeing. 

"Sierra Three, what the fuck is going on down there?" he barked.

"Total fucking chaos, sir," was the cool, measured reply. SHIELD agents didn't panic. Not outwardly.

"I can see that, Sierra Three. What I'm wondering is why we aren't the ones behind the chaos."

"Sir." The agent caught her breath. Two seconds later, she unloaded a third of her extensive ammunition into the targets. "They've got a nutshell, sir."

"We've got nutshells!" Fury said, unimpressed. "Better yet, we've got nut crackers. So go and crack 'em already."

Another radio snapped in attention. "Foxtrot One, sir. We've never seen this type of nut. There's no source, no concentration, nowhere to set the cracker."

"Bullshit in a shingle, Foxtrot. All nuts have a source. You just aren't looking hard enough."

"Sir, yes, sir."

Fury marched leisurely down the communication consoles, his practiced ear picking up relevant information, eye flicking through dozens of monitors. When he snapped in front of one console, the commo snapped in attention as well.

"We're not picking up any waste, sir. It's all heat."

Fury leaned closer. "Focus on D7."

"Sir." In a few clicks, the chosen sector appeared in a higher monitor. Three SHIELD agents crawled behind a broken wall. On the other side, a sole rebel threw debris at the agents hunkered down behind a truck, curling over to protect their weapons.

"F5," said Fury.

The commo clicked another button. The fighter on screen had one hand on a gun and the other stretched out as far as he could reach. More debris rained down.

The agent at the communication console squinted along with Fury. "Where's his weapon, sir?"

Fury felt for his cigar case. Snapping the worn leather open, he expertly cut the end off. He knew exactly where the weapon was. He just didn't believe it.

* * *

Dr. Michael Milbury seriously freaked Alex out. He popped up everywhere with a knowing arch to his thick black brows and the faint scent of disinfectant hanging about his pristine person. He was in the produce department five days ago, sniffing avocadoes as Alex threw a bag of bananas in his cart, then again in the snacks aisle and the frozen food section. He pulled into the same gas station a day after that. Twice on Thursday, Alex spotted him on the other side of the street, staring vaguely in his direction. 

It was worse on campus. Milbury had become as ubiquitous as palm trees; eating meals in the same restaurants, walking across the main mall, passing through the same hall. He hardly ever acknowledged Alex-- that _would_ have been grounds for harassment, surely-- but those mere coincidental encounters grated on Alex's nerves.

"It's not that big a campus, darling," Lorna said, eyes smiling. "It could really just be coincidence."

"He was following me around in the grocery store!" said Alex, his hands an explosion of agitated gestures.

"Maybe he's staying in the same area."

He was not convinced. His blood boiled whenever Milbury was around. His dad once told him that when Alex chose to, he had eyes like daggers, cutting the object of his wrath into a gibbering ribbon by simply a look. So it was a surprise when Milbury met his eye in the library and smiled.

"Mr. Summers." He stuck his hand out. Alex pointedly did not accept but instead of being insulted, Milbury just smiled wider. "You really don't like me, do you? I appreciate your honesty."

"Is there something you wanted?" Alex asked. "'Cause I have to study and we're disturbing everyone else in the library."

"I'm glad you asked," said Milbury. He nodded to the doors. "There's a café just outside the grad lounge; I would like to speak with you. After that, you can be sure I will no longer park my car where you can damage it."

Alex couldn't say why he followed. The man's words piqued his curiosity, true, but Alex was smart enough not to go after everything that looked dangerously interesting. Maybe it was Milbury's tone-- cool, faintly condescending-- that promised a strange sort of satisfaction should Alex have the opportunity to smack it off.

"I knew your father," said Milbury as soon as they took their drinks-- Alex's dark roast and Milbury's tea-- to a booth in the far corner of the café. An indulgent smile threatened his cold face. "He truly did earn the name, Corsair. There was one raid during the Gulf War when he single-handedly chased down--"

"I've heard the story," said Alex flatly. "Is that all you wanted? To reminisce about my Dad? Go hang out in one of the local vet halls."

Milbury's brows rose fractionally. "I beg your pardon. Of course you have. It must get a trifle tiring hearing people go on about him."

Alex gulped down his coffee. "Look, I'll let you yak all you want if it'll stop you from following me around. If you'd only told me before, I'd've said okay. Now I'm just pissed off."

Milbury tilted his chin. "Granted. I've always had an interest in you and your brothers. I was especially pleased to meet you because, you see, I delivered you."

This took Alex aback. Milbury didn't look like he'd seen forty yet. "Yeah?"

"Quite. I'm afraid I was a newly minted military doctor and quite envious of the dashing reputations that the pilots had. I was very pleased when I could be there for your mother when your father wasn't available." His smile grew as did Alex's discomfort. "Your brother was inconsolable when we took your mother away. Nothing would quiet him until the labour ended and we could bring him in the room."

Taking another sip of his coffee, Alex shifted his gaze to the table. He started to speak but nothing came out.

Milbury continued. "You were an impatient infant: three weeks early and prone to call out when your needs weren't met immediately. I had my hands full those that first week. Your mother was right in the middle of a vicious bout of the flu when she went into labour and so we couldn't let you breastfeed for fear of infection. Your brother couldn't visit for very long either and that made him very upset, let me tell you. To top it all off, your father didn't return for another two weeks."

He shook his head. "I'd always thought the military life was hard on a family but never was it more underlined than when I spent that time as your mother's personal doctor. In a way, I have you to thank for my career."

"What do you mean?" asked Alex.

"Meeting your family, taking care of the three of you, convinced me of my duty as a physician in those days," said Milbury. "I'd become a doctor because it was expected of me but I grew to love it because I saw a strength in your family that inspired me. I sound maudlin," he said hearing Alex's snort, "but I am sincere."

Alex finished off his coffee.

"As it is, I'm afraid I will have to ask a favour of you." Milbury pulled a large manila envelope and a thick file folder from his briefcase. He pushed them to Alex's side of the table.

Warning bells rang out in Alex's head. He wasn't going to like this, whatever it was. "What the hell is this?"

"Open it and see," said Milbury. "I assure you it will only benefit your family."

With his sense of foreboding clamouring, Alex flipped the file folder open. Remy's face stared back at him, his perpetual one-sided smile captured with clarity, his red-on-black eyes unmasked. It was pinned to a sheet recording his vital statistics, social security number, and all his known addresses. Behind that were other pictures-- these grainier-- of three masked men, one crouched over a computer, the other two acting as lookouts. Behind those pictures were lists of names, phone numbers, addresses... Alex's throat tightened.

"What the hell is this?"

"What do you know about your brother's business?" asked Milbury.

"He trades antiques," said Alex, answering with the usual cover story. It had been used so often, they'd half-convinced themselves it was true.

"His other business deals with something more than antiques and you know it."

Alex leaned back and narrowed his eyes. "So what are you, really?"

"I'm someone with connections," said Milbury. "Someone who has access to this material and would really hate for Corsair's name to get dragged through mud because one of his boys has... a penchant for... dangerous activities." Glancing briefly at the picture, he continued, "He was ID'd in the heist of a major government installation. The material he's carrying is very sensitive and worth... far too much money for the higher-ups to be comfortable with." He tapped the manila folder. "That has a CD of the security camera and digital files of all of this and more. If he's lucky, he'll go to jail for the rest of his life. If not, you'll be filing a missing persons case in a few weeks that will never get solved. One that will continue until everyone you know has disappeared as if they never existed."

"Oh, please, this isn't the eighties! Spies and covert ops are over."

"Is it?" Milbury wouldn't break eye-contact. It was unsettling.

Swirling his coffee dregs with one hand, Alex shut the file gingerly as though it would bite him. "Why are you giving it to me?" he demanded.

"I told you; I've always admired your family. I don't want your brother to be incarcerated any more than you do." Milbury leaned forward, lacing his fingers together earnestly. "I want you to give this to him. I don't care how much you tell him about this but he has to know that we're onto him."

"My brother is a big boy," said Alex. "If what you say is true, he can take care of himself."

"Not in this case he can't." The finality in Milbury's voice was implacable. "You have no idea the things we've done in the name of national security, Alex. Your brother is playing a very high stakes game and, sadly, I don't believe he's aware of it. We've made entire families disappear. Corsair is valued but not so much that the higher-ups will ignore treason."

Alex thought back on his mysterious attacker a month ago. Still, he couldn't trust the words of someone he didn't like. "Why don't you tell him yourself?"

Strangely, that only amused Milbury more. "If I get anywhere near him, the higher-ups will grow suspicious." He finished his tea, setting down his cup with a delicacy that seemed at odds with his entire character. "I've learned a lot from watching you, Alex. You have a strength your brothers seem to lack. I know you'll do what you think is right. I can only hope you agree with me." He slipped out of the booth in a feline way, his dark figure blotting the dazzling Hawai'ian landscape beyond the café windows.

When he was certain Milbury couldn't see, Alex took the files. He weighed them in his hand for a moment then slipped all them into his backpack.


	19. Past Interlude 5, Westchester, NY 1995

**Past Interlude #5: Westchester, New York - 1995**

* * *

It was hate at first sight. 

Within two hours of meeting each other, Remy and Warren declared war. Remy stole Warren's Rolex, poured sugar in his BMW's radiator, thrown his textbooks in the compost bin fresh with horse refuse, and accidentally-on-purpose kneed him in the groin while playing touch football. He didn't even like touch football.

Warren's attacks were more subtle, poisonous little comments on Remy's intelligence, hygiene, background, and manners. But worse than all of these in Remy's eyes, Warren had stolen his family. The asshole had Scott in his WASP tractor beam, gleefully winning a game of Risk that required three boards and a list of wild cards apparently based on real historical events. Scott, the idiot, was all too pleased at the prospect of losing.

"How do you keep all the campaigns straight in your head?" asked Scott, awed.

"It's just a matter of remembering great campaigns," Warren said. "And a life-long obsession with Dungeons and Dragons."

Scott was ready to swoon. "You play D&D?"

"Heck yeah! The guys downstairs would have all-nighters. When my parents were away, I'd sneak down and wipe all of their butts."

Heck yeah? Wipe their butts? Remy snorted. Did real fucking swear words burn the silver off his lips or something? Fuckmook.

A porcelain figurine made its way in Remy's pocket as he glided out of the games room. The outdoors was more to his taste anyway. The brisk New England breeze nipped at him; he buttoned his coat all the way up. Who'd want to live in this cold, hellishly dry place anyway?

Xavier's office was right in front of the driveway. Remy steered clear of it, taking a trail that wound past a half-grown vegetable garden and into a fenced-in area. The deep pit was obviously a pool and a huge one at that but stripped of its tiles, it looked pathetic. He jimmied the padlock open and left it hanging there, chains loose. Everything about this place was pathetic-- the students, the two crackpot professors.

"Hey, you're not supposed to be there."

Remy turned around. A girl-- a woman in his seventeen year-old mind-- stood with her arms crossed. She was dressed for hard work: a huge plaid shirt over a grey shirt, baggy jeans, and a thick cloth headband keeping her frizzy brown hair at bay.

"Is this going to be the pool?" he asked.

"It's not ready."

He rolled his eyes. "Well, duh. I was just wondering why it needed to get fixed. It looks cool enough."

"It's just getting old," said the girl. "Dr, MacTaggert said they'd better retile it before something fell off."

"Liability," said Remy knowingly.

The girl laughed. "What do you know about liability?"

"Most powerful word in the English language," Remy said, taking a step away from the fence. "Example: you keep your arms crossed like that, I'm liable to think you don't like me."

The girl fought against a grin. "Who are you?"

"Remy." He took another step closer and held his hand out. She'd cross the distance to shake it; he could sense it.

"Naomi," said the girl who did, in fact, close the five feet between them to take his hand. Her eyes were a pretty golden-brown, like aged bronze. "What brings you to Xavier's School?"

"My little brother's enrolling," Remy said, jerking his head towards the main house. "And you? Don't tell me you're one of the teachers 'cause there's no way any of the guys can concentrate on math with you around."

Naomi giggled. "I'm just interning," she said. "I'm going into accounting actually and Professor Xavier has me handling a lot of practical business projects. Plus, I can go to work like this." She spread her arms out. "How about you? Which school do you go to?"

"Don't laugh but Berkeley." Remy was on a roll now. After all, if he was going to lie, he might as well do it big. "I'll have you know that only half the faculty tokes up nowadays and a full ninety-percent of the students chemically indulge only once a week." He beamed at her laughter. "Naw, it's fine. It keeps me close to home and the average level of student intoxication keeps me in the top of my year."

In fifteen minutes, he was holding her hand. In thirty, he was in her car headed for a couple of beers. By sunset, while Chris Summers was signing enrolment papers and Scott was happily lost in the treasure trove of books his new friend had suggested. Remy was in Naomi's apartment, his hands full of perky brown breasts and the afternoon's irritation momentarily forgotten.


	20. Catalysis

**Catalysis**

* * *

Money, telepathy, more connections than a field of crab grass and Xavier still hadn't found anything worthwhile. Scott sensed Remy's oncoming rebuke. It was going to involve a lot of expletives, unnecessary mention of bodily functions, and a spattering of patois French what would be more impressive if he didn't sound like a drunken Pepe LePew. 

He scanned through the pictures for the fourth time since the meeting, seeing nothing but shades of white and grey.

"What am I missing?" he murmured, willing the digital information amalgam to give up its secrets. The ghoulish lab, the surrounding area, and the video clips were imbedded in his retinas. When he slept, they whirled in his head and when he woke up, he saw them in the mirror.

He refused to answer the voice that scolded him for ignoring Remy, even if it did sound a lot like Jean.

He moved his attention to another set of information: the maps. They'd gone back to Nevada twice now, once to Kelsey and another time to a city in the next county. The second location didn't have a large concentration of Adam's biosignature but it was the closest and he thought it could be a transportation stop.

No such luck. There hadn't even been anything to hide in the painfully suburban town. Scott's temples throbbed and he lifted his glasses off press his fingers against the pain. The familiar pressure of the optic beams was threatening to take the top of his head off. He had to let some energy loose.

The next highest concentration of biosignatures was in Georgia. Granted, they were human but they weren't sure about the state of Adam's mutation. That's what he had to investigate just as soon as he finished grading tests.

God, his life was bizarre.

Warren was playing basketball with the junior students when Scott emerged from the meeting room. Scott's mouth threatened to lift up. Warren always did well with the younger kids, especially the ones who had Christian backgrounds. A real life angel did wonders for their morale.

"No fair, no powers!" Jones cried out as he tried to guard Warren. The older man's wings proved to be an adequate deterrent.

"I'm not using powers, they just fall that way" Warren said. "It's like telling Artie not to tepe images."

Artie chose that moment to telepathically submit an image of Warren passing the ball to him. Warren executed a perfect chest pass to the twelve year-old who then leapt into a passable lay-up.

"All right, Artie!" He and Warren exchanged high-fives. "We'll catch up to them soon."

Jones and Teresa hooted companionably as Warren took Artie to one side to discuss strategy. Scott approached the duo. "Don't you have a mega-million business enterprise to run?"

"A good CEO can go on vacation and still have the company running smoothly."

"So a good CEO is useless," Scott paraphrased wryly.

"Shhh!" Warren narrowed his eyes playfully. "Business secret. They give it to you with the country club membership." Artie backed away, sending an image of Warren and Scott in their X-uniforms but Warren shook his head. "If we stop now, they'll think we gave up. Artie and I are just going to deliver a little payback, okay? I'll meet you in your office."

Fifteen minutes later, as promised, Warren knocked on Scott's office door, two sports drinks in hand. "Candygram."

Flashing a tight smile, Scott gestured to the chair across the table. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I really hate screwing up."

Warren sat down and leaned forward. Those words sounded like they were wrenched from somewhere in Scott's solar plexus. Scott Summers opening up was a rare event indeed and Warren would not have the honour of being his best friend if he didn't know when to pay attention.

"I really hate it, more than art theory and Anne Rice novels."

"No-one can hate anything more than you hate Anne Rice novels."

"Yeah, but it's worse when you know you have to apologize." He whirled his chair around so he wouldn't have to face Warren as he spoke. "I have really fucked up, haven't I? Especially handling Remy."

Warren arched an eyebrow. Only the ruffling of his wings gave depth to his emotions. "I thought I smelled an awful lot of cigarette smoke wafting in from his room." Taking a deep breath, he prepared to unload Scott's eternal baggage of guilt for the umpteenth time since they first met. "You shouldn't have let him goad you into a fight but he _was_ wrong to bring the girl into the lab."

"It's not always his fault, you know," Scott snapped.

Warren held his arms up. "I call them as I see them, Slim. Every time you and Remy are together for longer than two seconds, something explodes. Literally."

"You're an only child; you wouldn't understand."

His feathers stood at the dismissal. "Try me."

"Just because we argue, it doesn't mean--" Scott shook his head and tried again. "It's like there's this line; most of the time it's fun to fight and we draw blood but we never... it's not _hateful_. I don't hate any of the boys. I just get... they take so much _energy_."

"One could argue that teaching forty kids also requires energy."

"I suppose." He sat motionless, staring at the wall for so long that Warren started to grade test again, thinking the moment was over. Then suddenly: "Does it come off that I hate them?"

"From what everyone else has said, you don't mention them very often," replied Warren, "but you've always been very private." He smiled, wearily but warmly. "Stop beating yourself about it. That's why I'm here, remember? I'll do all the worrying for you; you just concentrate on eating, bathing, and saving the world from certain destruction."

Scott snorted. "That was your dream job."

"You're better at it," said Warren. "Always have been; always will be. I'm just here to discretely push money your way."

"Or not so discretely." Scott glanced pointedly at the filling box that held the bills.

"I have to get my little thrills since I resigned myself to never putting on the suit," said Warren. "Honestly, I don't know what I was thinking back then. What was I supposed to d as an X-Man? Fly around and tickle people into submission?"

Scott grinned. It was the first real smile Warren had seen since Jean's funeral. "We had the plan with the bazooka, remember? You were supposed to act as a look-out from above and if anyone tried to attack, you'd blast them with a bazooka."

Warren covered his face in embarrassment. "Obviously, we watched too much G.I. Joe as kids."

"You're showing your age. I didn't get into Saturday morning cartoons until the Ninja Turtles first made an appearance." Scott grinned.

"Keep rubbing it in, infant. Just remember, I know you still keep your old Teen Ninja Mutant Turtles comics somewhere in this office." Reaching over the desk, Warren flipped through a few of the tests. "You're giving these poor kids geometric proofs? You are an evil, evil man."

"Geometric proofs are the least of it." Grimacing Scott passed a thick binder forward. "They're supposed to have pre-calc by senior year, too. Pre-calc! When most of the kids still have to catch up on advanced algebra."

"Is this where you beg me for money?" asked Warren lightly.

"No, this is where I beg you to come and handle all the administrative stuff for the school so I can teach in relative peace and quiet." Scott grimaced. "You look better on the brochure."

"And if I cover myself a bedsheet and bronze paint, I can greet the visitors in a shower of light," said Warren dryly.

"Let's not and said we did." They both laughed.

"Honestly though, if you're in need of my expertise, I can take another few months off." Warren flipped his PDA open. "I'll have to cram a few meetings into next month but it's doable. I'll call Hodge right now and let him know."

"Ah, hell, Warren, you don't have to." Scott began to protest but Warren, already dialling, angled away from him.

"You already took a month off to help me with the funeral," said Scott, trying to dissuade him again. Warren smiled and flipped a perfectly manicured middle finger at him.

In a few minutes, Warren had signed off at his office, securing his schedule conflicts for the next two months. "So, where do you want me to start, boss?" he asked.

"Well, for one thing, you can help me find my Fleetside," Scott said. "I had it in it's box on the top shelf with the homework stuff and now it's gone."

"The toy car? One of your kids probably found it and borrowed without asking," said Warren.

"The only kids who'd go through the extra homework box are went home for the summer," Scott said. "Last time I checked it, they were all still there."

"When was that?"

"Right after the funeral." Scott's forehead wrinkled. "I don't care if they play with it; I just wished they'd ask me first."

Warren patted his shoulder. "Give it until September. If they took it for a little joyride down the halls, it's not going to show up any time soon. If they've sold it for money, hell, I'll get you a new one."

Scott's chin jutted forward. Letting out an irritated breath, he said, "My mom bought me that."

Warren's wings stiffened. Remy _had_ come to the mansion for something other than Adam. He'd been riffling through Scott's things and besides, else knew the resale value of first-edition comics regardless of sentimental value? It wouldn't be the first time he stole something from Scott.

Broaching the possibility wasn't going to be fun.

He'd been standing stock-still for the five or six minutes that Warren tried to think of ways to tell him that his brother's burgling days were most assuredly not over. Some people made notes in a diary or PDA; Scott stood still and catalogued information in that filing-cabinet that was his brain.

"Tomorrow," he caught Scott saying

"Tomorrow what?" Warren asked.

"I'll ask about the car tomorrow," he replied. "There's a mission in an hour."

* * *

Okay, taking everything into stock. 

Item 1: He'd been in this laboratory for almost seventy sleeps. Assuming he'd been knocked out three times a day, that meant he'd been missing for almost a month.

Item 2: Dad had just been stationed at Kuwait so no one at home was going to be looking for him.

Item 3: Remy and Scott were pretty smart. If they hadn't found him yet, there weren't enough clues on his whereabouts.

Item 4: He had no idea what to do about all of the above.

Adam rubbed his eyes again. They felt like they always did when he had a vicious case of the flu. Just what he needed; the freakin' sniffles while he was playing punching bag to a bunch of whacked-out mutants. Life totally sucked large under-ripe lemons. Or maybe they didn't. After all, if lemons tasted sour when they were ripe; maybe they were sweet when they were unripe so it would be an awesome way to make craploads of money on that except that if it were true, people would have discovered it by now since lemons had been around since the dinosaurs or at least black and white movies and, whoa, this was a really pathetic train of thought even for him.

"Would it help if I tell my brothers to take it easy?" he asked his invisible captors. "They could kill you quickly instead of torturing you first."

To his surprise, there was a reply. A panel in the cell's wall slid open. A really pale guy walked confidently into the cell. Buck-ass naked. Now, Adam was pale for a Californian but this guy just didn't look healthy. It was like he tanned only under fluorescent light. Although his head was shaved, the carpet was dark brown. That whole area kind of looked like Bruno, their neighbour's wire-haired terrier. He wasn't happy to see Adam but since Adam wasn't in a cuddly mood either, there was no loss.

The guy walked up to him, chin lifted, and got into Adam's personal space. Way into his personal space. He normally wouldn't mind since the guy was ripped like a Greek statue but, really, those weren't lovin' vibes he was getting. Adam backed off a few steps.

"I will not submit," said Bruno.

"Good for you. No means no," said Adam, now officially weirded out. And he thought the giant test tubes-cum-sleeping pods were strange. No, this guy was Twilight Zone made human. "Uh, I usually try to date someone first, nothing fancy, maybe a coffee..."

Bruno punched him in the face.

Flailing, Adam slammed against the wall. "Ow! Dude! I _said_ I wasn't going to touch you. _Je_sus!"

He punched Adam again. This time, Adam had the presence of mind to roll away although the guy's arm moved so quickly, he still managed to graze Adam's shoulder.

"That wasn't a rejection, y'know." Adam ducked under a straight-legged kick and rolled away again. "That was more like 'I'm not ready for a commitment'."

He twisted away from a chop to the neck and blocked the following knee. "Okay, I lied. I'm real shy when it comes to BDSM. We haven't even established a safe-word."

"Why do you not fight me?" Bruno demanded, highly affronted.

Adam hugged the wall, ready to slide away again when the guy got his second wind. "Honestly? I don't want to prolong the agony. I know the drill: I go in, you kick my ass with your powers, everything goes black and I wake up in my waterbed. The faster I can get from Step One to Step Four, the better."

Bruno bared his teeth. "You would make a fool of me."

"Dude, I'm not the one who walked in airing my balls."

"You refuse to burn me?" asked Bruno.

"Burn you?" Adam laughed. "Where in this Matrix wanna-be outfit do you think I keep my Zippo?"

"We must fight," said Bruno, urgency seeping into his tone. "If we do not fight, we cannot rise to the next level. We will remain sheep."

"Baa," said Adam, deadpan. "Look, you want to get burned? You go stick your head in a toaster. Me, I'm gonna wait here and try to stay low so my brothers only have one piece to rescue."

Now Bruno really looked worried. He searched the ceiling. "What do I do, sir? You did not give me this factor to compute."

Adam looked up as well. "Is that where the cameras are?" He spun in a slow circle, waving a one-fingered salute. "You could have at least thrown in someone with lube, you turds."

Bruno nodded to the little voice in his head. "I understand, sir."

"This is officially way too weird for me," said Adam, turning his back. Two icy hands landed on his shoulders and shoved. Adam whirled around. "Hey!"

Bruno held up his arm and _bit_ himself. Right through the friggin' skin!

"You're a freak!" Adam yelled. "Forget the nakedness and talking to air, you need some _serious_ Dr. Phil."

Bruno only cocked his head to one side and shoved him again. This time, he kept his hands at Adam's shoulders until he hit the wall. Bracing one hand against Adam's throat, he cupped the younger man's groin with the other.

Adam lashed out, forgetting his training in his panic. He was _not_ getting raped. He would shit down a tube, pickle in a jar, and play punching bag to a hundred mutants but he would kill himself before he was raped. Especially not by this nudist boyband reject.

God, this guy was strong. Adam threw futile punches at his captor but Bruno ignored it. His hand was way too rough, rubbing against the suit's cold metal things that were needles and tubes despite Adam's denial.

Adam couldn't get enough air. He tried to kick but that only wedged Bruno's arm tighter on his throat. His vision blurred around the edges.

Pulling every last dreg of emotion he had in him, Adam bared his teeth and tried to throw one last punch. Air hissed past his fist.

_No, no, no, no, _fuck _no! I'd rather burn!_

Something in Adam's brain _clicked_. Heat gathered in his eyes. The scent of toasted flesh assaulted his nostrils.

_What, is he torturing me now?_Adam thought.

At the same time, Bruno staggered back, gagging and clutching his arm, the one that he'd bitten. Adam sagged against the wall, coughing out the mouthfuls of air he'd tried to take in. Bruno dropped to his knees, quietly keening. Smoke sizzled from his open wound. It was getting bigger, the sizzling flesh slowly darkening. Ragged, angry strips of red crawled from the wound up his arms. The smell grew stronger.

"I hope you ch-choke on it," said Adam, gathering his knees to his chest and giving Bruno his best glare. His eyes were still burning.

Spit hanging from his mouth, Bruno arched back, screaming. The red streaks darkened immediately, skin peeling in dry, ashy flakes. Adam scrambled away, his eyes wide. The adrenaline left him now, his fear draining the boil of angry energy, but the heat in his eyes didn't.

Bruno slumped on the floor, panting and shivering. The burns-- those streaks were obviously burns-- reached his torso now, tearing lightning bolts down his back and chest. His arm was nothing but a blackened husk, his fingers curled into charred sticks.

Vomit surged up Adam's mouth but he couldn't turn away until he actually felt warm liquid splatter on his leg. He didn't get it. Mutants came in here and beat on him. They never beat on themselves. It was always the same, every time he went in a cell. One mutant came in and beat up on one human. Why would Bruno burn himself? Was he completely over the edge?

He was whispering something. At first, Adam didn't want do anything about it but Bruno looked so pathetically frantic. Gulping down his apprehension, he leaned forward to try to catch the words.

"You are... as powerful as... they say." Bruno's eyes, set in a blistered face, rolled back. He said no more.

* * *

Quotes from Poe's "Tell-Tale Heart" throbbed in Alex's head. Sure, the heart was actually Milbury's little present and he'd stuffed it under his dirty laundry pile, not the floorboards, but it still kept on thumping. 

"Crap." Alex leaned away from his statistics notes. He pressed the balls of his palms against his burning eyes. Remy had never been a model citizen but he'd never deal with something like... Shit! This was all sorts of messed up and he wasn't going to get any peace until he sorted some of this out.

Pulling a phone card from his pocket-- thank God for Scott and his posh job-- Alex punched in the number for home. The phone rang four times before the machine picked up. Adam didn't pick up his cell-phone either. He tried his dad's office, knowing that the secretary would give a practiced spiel that Captain Summers would not be available for some time, would he like to leave a message? Alex bit his tongue, his fingers poised over the keys. With a final, muttered oath, he dialled Remy's New Orleans office.

"You've reached Les Beaux Temps," said a voice better suited to 1-800 numbers. "We specialise in museum-quality furnishings and rare collectibles. I'm sorry we can't come to the phone at the moment but please leave your name, number and a brief message and we'll--"

"Fuck me sideways." Alex hung up. "Remy, you son of a bitch, if you don't answer your cell, I'm going to sic Scott on you." He dialled Remy's private number.

Two rings later, the line clicked on. "Hello, Remy's phone," said Scott. "Remy's getting castrated right now. May I take a message?"

"Scott?"

"Alex?" His eldest brother grunted. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" said Alex. "I was just... wondering what Remy's doing there. Or are you visiting him?"

"Hell has frozen over and Remy's in New York." The connection muffled and Scott yelled something indistinguishable on the other line. When he came back on, the sound of water splashing was even louder. "Did you want to talk to him?"

"Hell, no... I guess... I mean, I think so."

"Make up your mind. I've got hotdogs to roast."

"Screw off." Alex paced his small living room. "Why is Remy there? Angry Girlfriend #201?"

"I wish," Scott snorted. "Adam's run away again."

"The kid needs a new act."

"He's been missing for seven weeks now," Scott continued. "That's extreme, even for Adam."

"Any leads?" When Scott didn't answer, Alex repeated the question.

"It's kind of complicated," said Scott, his reluctance obvious. "I can't talk about it over the phone."

"Well shit." Alex thumped his head on the wall. "Have you told Dad?"

"Dad's incommunicado for the next few months, you know that."

"Well, did you even try?" demanded Alex. "He might know someone who can--"

"We're working on it." Scott used his no-arguments voice. "We know people, too."

Alex stared at the space under his bed where his dirty laundry sat, stinking. "Yeah, I guess you do." He began to dig under the bed then, cursing silently, spun away. Bashing his head on the mattress cleared his thinking a bit. "Okay then, Scott. I, uh, I guess I'll see you around." He rammed his head into the bed one last time.

"I'm going nuts," he told the room. "I'm going totally--"

Just then, a rocket crashed through his dorm room window.

* * *

Just wanted to throw out a huge "Thank You Kindly" to everyone who has left feedback so far. I'm sure you all know this but reviews are a ficcer's chocolate, martinies, and extra-shot coffees ALL IN ONE. So thanks to everyone for taking the time to write and doubly so for everyone who has come back to review chapter after chapter. 


	21. Past Interlude 6, San Diego, CA, 2001

**Past Interlude #6: San Diego, California - 2001**

* * *

With a click and a hushed creak, Adam unlocked the door. 

"Hello, house!" he shouted, not really expecting a reply. It was a habit from back in the day when there were so many people coming and going that greeting each one was too much for a kindergartener. The house hadn't been full in years.

Dad's usual green post-it note decorated the fridge. "Roast beef sandwiches, second shelf," said the note in his latest girlfriend's handwriting. She was a great cook though, so Adam liked her a lot.

Adam took the plate of sandwiches out. Real roast beef! Carved meat and everything! It even came with dipping sauce. He hoped this one would last at least a year; he could live forever on this kind of food.

"Don't forget to clear the dishwasher," another green post-it said. It lay right on the counter where Adam was about to set his plate. He ignored it as he'd done for past two days.

With the bowl of dipping sauce precariously balanced on a full plate and a backpack slung over his shoulder, Adam made his way to the computer desk. Alex's orange post-it trailed from the middle of the television screen, across the entertainment area, and on the wall above the desk.

"I'm going to be in Tahoe on Thursday."

"Don't forget to feed the fish."

"Call Scott or Dad by 9 PM every night so they'll stop bugging me."

"If Donna calls, I'm in Atlanta."

"Get all this racing crap off the desk. Other people use the computer, too."

That last note was right beside another one of Dad's that said, "I'll try to call you before dinner time." Adam piled all of Alex's notes into a stack of like colours. So far, he used up the most post-its, with Dad coming in second, Scott in third, and Remy trailing. But then, Remy preferred to use a nifty new invention called a telephone.

The words "Fast & Furious" twisted and bounced around on an otherwise black computer screen. With a click of a mouse, Adam's wallpaper popped up: Vin Diesel leaning against the RX-7 his character drove in the movie "Fast and the Furious." Over the desk, a dozen or so printed pictures of modded, racing, and stock cars bordered what was supposed to be an information bulletin board. Car magazines stood in their individual boxes, organized alphabetically according to type, title then issue. Sketchpads leaned against the magazine boxes, their pages bulging with more photographs as well as sketches and cut-outs. To say that Adam was obsessed was a severe understatement.

Adam slid his plate to the left, away from a stack of faxes. Two notes lay on top of his latest drawing. Again, the writing belonged to Dad's girlfriend but it was written on Scott's yellow post-it. "Worry about the engine first then the detailing. That kit might actually slow you down."

Predictably, Remy's blue note had a near-opposite comment. "Like the spoiler, ditch the flames. Everyone has flames. If you look good, people won't mess with you."

Scott had another note under Remy's. "Do you homework before you fix this."

He didn't know why he bothered to ask their opinions. With their long-distance quarrelling, it wasn't like they helped him decide anything.

The bare scan of a Mitsubishi Eclipse GSX popped up on the screen. Fifty minutes disappeared as Adam lost himself in planning his latest project. He kept his cell phone on the desk just in case anyone called. The house stayed as silent as when he first entered.


	22. Quite Contrary

**Quite Contrary**

* * *

Cyclops weighed a throwing knife in his hand for a moment before passing it back to his brother. Remy handled the blade with ease, the edge sliding frighteningly close to the webbing between his fingers. Two other knives joined it, plucked from invisible pockets. Scott eased the plane lower, skimming the clouds over Wyoming. 

Both men were extremely loose-limbed considering they were on a mission.

"Are you even awake?" Wolverine asked Cyclops. He hadn't spoken to Remy since he returned Rogue with a hickie on her arm (albeit a self-inflicted one) and half a dozen scratches on her face and body.

"Remember when we had that briefing about disturbing the pilot?" Cyclops asked in return.

"Naw, couldn't with all the yacking-- shit!" A tremolo of tiny explosive charges fired white and yellow behind Wolverine's head. He recovered a second later, flashing his claws under Remy's aquiline nose. "You want my attention, punk? You got it."

Remy's lips curled upward and his eyes slitted like a well-fed cat. "Sorry, I was seeing if I could charge dust motes." He shrugged indolently. "Guess I can. Handy trick, huh?"

"You want to see if you can charge up the claws before I cut your dick off?" Wolverine growled.

One of Remy's eyebrows arched up to his hairline. "Is he always this hostile?" he asked Cyclops.

"Only if he doesn't nap before the flight," Cyclops answered, returning his attention to the controls. "And if his litterbox hasn't been cleaned."

"Ever tried neutering? Heard it does wonders for aggression."

Disgusted, Wolverine slunk back into his chair.

His lips quirking up, Cyclops turned to exchange another gibe with his brother. Remy caught his eye then deliberately slipped his shades on and looked away. Snorting, Cyclops did the same.

Fucking drama queen.

The plane touched down in canyon ten miles from the objective. Because they had built-in self-defence, so to speak, all they had to carry were nylon backpacks, twenty-pounds max for various types of equipment. Wolverine also packed two automatics with a couple of extra magazines each, compensation for the lack of built-in long-distance weapons.

"Is your bag secure?" Scott asked Remy out of habit.

With an aggrieved expression, Remy said, "I _have_ done this before, y'know."

"Last I checked, you didn't do this for a living," said Scott, curtly, "or has the antiques trade gotten a lot more dangerous in the past five years?"

"What do you know about danger, Urkel?"

"About as much as you know about genital crabs, Fabio."

As much as he was enjoying the acerbic banter, Wolverine wanted to get the show on the road. "Kids, don't make me give you two a time-out."

"Shut up," the Summers chorused then exchanged glares, each blaming the other for the inadvertent thought fusion.

Ten miles and fifteen minutes later, the trio crested a craggy slope. Using the dust as a shield, they lay flat on the precipice and drew binoculars from their packs.

_No activity_, Cyclops signalled.

_Veering south. Checking_, Remy said with his hands. He crouched away before Scott could protest.

_I'm surrounded by cowboys_, Cyclops thought crossly. It was a bad day when Wolverine seemed like a team-player. _See him?_ he signalled.

Wolverine nodded. After peering through his binoculars a while longer, he whispered. "I think he's found an entrance."

Cyclops nodded and motioned for them to follow. When they reached Remy, he was lying on his stomach, an ear pressed against a dusty grate while he worked a screwdriver one-handed. A few expertly deft twists later, and the grate shivered loose. Despite this, Remy was frowning.

_What's wrong?_ Cyclops' expression asked.

Remy eased up to his knees. "This is too easy," he whispered. "I'd never use something like this."

"Occam's Razor."

"Uh, Nirvana song?"

"The simplest answer is usually correct," Cyclops explained. "Your call."

Remy's eyes glinted with satisfaction. In once swift, soundless movement, he pulled the grate free. "_Apprez-vous, M'sieu_ Bulletproof," he said to Wolverine, executing a gallant bow, then winced as he heard the heavy clang of an adamantium-laced body hitting concrete. "You sure he's done covert before?"

"If he hasn't told me, it's because he doesn't remember," replied Cyclops. "Unlike some people I could name." He dropped through the hole before Remy could get the final word in.

Remy glared at the shadows under his feet. Fucking know-it-alls.

Cyclops and Wolverine had already taken point by the time Remy bent out of his crouch. He took the next wall, ball-bearings in hand and humming softly with potential energy. Wolverine slipped past him and peered around the corner and, seeing nothing, gestured for Cyclops to move forward.

Like clockwork, they made their way deeper into the underground labyrinth. The walls were still taupe but none of the lights were on. Cold, stale air swirled listlessly around their feet, bringing with them the scent of mould and decay.

They searched an hour longer than planned but Remy knew they would find nothing. This base was empty, just like the three other mines they'd searched, just like the Kelsey mine.

For once, Wolverine didn't have a damned thing to say as he buckled up for the return flight.

* * *

The word "shitcakes" might have passed through Alex's lips as well as a long string of blue-tinting expletives gleaned from years at military bases. Unfortunately, he couldn't hear them. The concussion from the explosion had deafened him to everything except a painful, high-pitched ringing.

Coughing, he crawled to the only part of the apartment that still have upright furnishings: the kitchenette. Thank God most of his stuff was cheap plastic; he didn't have to worry about cutting himself. But his laptop, his books, his notes--- Jesus, two years' worth of work! Alex let loose another bout of vulgarities, exercising his imagination to the nth degree in terms of perversity.

Foot long splinters littered the entrance, the remains of his door and bookshelves. Alex stumbled through the wreckage bumping to a hysterical girl. He recognized her; she had been in his intro to anthropology class. Her entire body shook and her mouth was wide open. She was screaming, Alex realised, and he shook his head roughly, trying to get the ringing out. It didn't help much.

At the end of the hall, the resident advisors tried to keep everyone calm with varying levels of success. Not only were the students half-deaf and screaming, they were scared themselves. It wasn't every day someone launched a bomb in your building. Alex started to flow with the crowd when the memory of Milbury stopped him.

This couldn't be...

Alex froze, Milbury's words nearly blocking out the rocket's effects.

Item 1: Remy threw money around like candy in ways that even an clandestinely-supported antiques business couldn't explain.

Item 2: Somebody tried to skewer him with a standard issue SEAL knife a little more than a month ago.

Item 3: Adam had never run away for longer than two weeks.

Item 4: Scott said that Remy was in New York asking for help to find Adam despite the fact that those two hadn't seen each other face-to-face in three years, six months, and two weeks.

Item 5: Milbury said that people would probably be trailing him to get at that sensitive information.

The ringing had decreased in volume but the sound of his heart thumping madly took up the slack. With one last, "Fuck it," Alex shoved his way through the crowd, back to his room.

The bed looked like it met with a sledgehammer-wielding Mack truck. That meant his clothes were shredded too. Alex wrapped his hands in the least damaged articles of clothing and lifted the largest pieces out of the way. His favourite sweatshirt covered the envelope. Alex quietly bemoaned the fate of the sweatshirt; he was all out of air for vocal swearing.

The incongruous manila envelope pillowed by shirts, shorts, and jeans was just as pristine as when Alex first buried it with the intention of forgetting it until the end of the term.

The airport was only an hour away.

The punching bag released a satisfying _fffwuhhmp_ as it made contact with Rogue's fist. It swung back on a rebound but she cut its return short with two sharp jabs and a side-kick. By the third swing, the bag gave up the ghost, allowing her to lay as many combinations as her pasta-and-coffee-charged body could give. Three weeks of daily lessons with Logan on top of X-Men training did wonders for her stress levels.

A few yards away, Jubilee straddled a yoga ball, supposedly doing some aerobics but the only reason her heart thumped badly was from watching a topless Remy do his katas. He'd been at it since he returned from the mission. Rogue had to admit, there was something about the guy that drew the eye. He wasn't conventionally handsome-- his features were a little too sharp, his eyes sunken and baggy from his late nights, and he had a perpetual fog of cigarette smoke around him. But damn, he had a fine body. A _really_ fine body. A body was usually wasn't possible outside of implants and heavy use of Photoshop.

"I could roll a marble down his stomach and it wouldn't fall out of that centre crease," Jubilee sighed.

"I bet we can bounce pond rocks off his buns," Rogue said, joining in the fun.

"Nice, Ms. Taken."

"Hey, Bobby's sweet and all but he had a way to go before he turns into that."

They both sighed as Remy eased into a handstand as easily as he would reach for a cup of coffee. Then, amazingly, he began to do upside-down push-ups. Sweat slicked his body into silky crème caramel, muscles bunching and relaxing as he maintained his balance. A complicated knot of tribal thorns and gothic arabesques swirled on his left bicep. Another tattoo traced his spine, curling ever so slightly to the right as it neared his tailbone. It was almost like an arrow pointing to his butt, not that anyone would need directions to that lovely, luscious, squeezable--

"Oh, my _gawd_ he can do the splits," wheezed Jubilee.

"I think I'm going," Rogue said, her voice gone thin.

Jubilee lolled off the yoga ball. "I already went and I'm going again. You might want to sleep in Bobby's room tonight 'cause I'm gonna have me some great dreams and I can't promise that I'll be quiet."

Rogue stopped exercising, shocking rounding her mouth.

"What?" said Jubilee. "I'm just saying."

"Shut up and do your sit-ups, Jubilation, before Ms. Munro comes over here and asks why you're just laying there in a pool of goo."

"Not goo." Jubilee wagged her eyebrows in a decidedly lascivious fashion. "I'm so disappointed in you for not even copping a feel."

"Some of us have self-control when we're on the job," Rogue said archly, returning her attention to the punching bag.

Scooting herself and her yoga ball closer, Jubilee said, "Come on. You haven't dished a thing. Don't tell me you weren't even tempted to reach out and squeeze them buns."

"I'm hardly going to dish in the middle of gym with him in the room."

"So there _is_ dish!"

"There is _no_ dish and I swear, if you ask again, I'm going to tell Remy what you've been saying."

"You wouldn't!" Jubilee gasped. "Rogue, you total bitch, I'd totally die if he knew I liked him."

"Jubi, hon, everyone knows you like him." Rogue's expression lightened, pleased to have the boot firmly on the other foot. "You're not exactly subtle. Your eyes go all googly when he passes by and, for frick's sake, you've been sitting there staring at him for the past hour! I bet his ears are on fire."

Remy had flipped back on his feet, dragging the bandanna from his head and wiping sweat away with a towel. He waved at the two girls then sat down to do some cool-down stretches.

"Hmph." Jubilee crouched beside the yoga ball and braced her legs for some squats. "I guess if I'm failing at being subtle, I should just go vampy."

"Oh, lordy."

"Help me pick something to wear for dinner tonight. I think I have the perfect tank-top but I need help accessorising."

Rogue stopped again. "I'm not sure it's such a hot idea. Do you really want to go out with someone who's had three different dates this week alone?"

"Dude, I'm not looking for love and marriage. So he's a player; I can deal. I just want a little somethin'-somethin' to cut the boredom, y'know?" She paused. "How do you know he's been out with three different dates this week? Has someone been doing their own little bit of stalking?"

"Please!" Rogue rolled her eyes. "He asks me to help him figure out what to wear."

Jubilee winked. "Sure, he has. Anyway, Saint Pete's not touchable, Bobby's yours, and everyone else is just... ick, no. I think I'm about ready to tackle a real man."

"I'm sure he'll be glad to know you think of him as a somethin'-somethin',"

"I'm hoping he'll concentrate on the tackling part, personally." She beamed. "I'm gonna call on the ties of friendship, dude. I'm gonna pick your mind on his likes and dislikes before we attack."

"We?" said Rogue. "I'm staying clear out of this. I just want my X, my boyfriend, and my degree in whatever order the worlds deems fit."

Ororo came by holding the telephone. "Girls, I am needed in the professor's office. Kindly look after the younger students while I am away."

"Sure thing, Storm," said Rogue.

"Thank you." She looked pointedly at Jubilee.

"What?" Jubilee pulled her most innocent face on.

"If I hear anything at all about equipment exploding, someone could receive Beowulf as a reading assignment. In the original Old English."

Jubilee dimpled, a picture of angelic goodness for all of thirty seconds. Then, her towel slung over her shoulders to disguise her distinct lack of bosom, she sashayed to the part of the gym where Remy was now gulping down water. She showed her crossed fingers as she stepped onto the mat. Rogue followed, eyes turned heavenward in a silent plea for patience.

Remy didn't help things by grinning like a cat that had gotten the canary, teased the dog, and rolled in a field of catnip for dessert. Who knew watching someone get dressed could be sexy? By the time he was decent, Rogue was red enough to toast tomatoes, envious of Jubilee's casualness. Easy as milkshake, Jubilee nipped a pair of Ray Bans from the edge of the mat and slid them over Remy's eyes.

He grabbed one of Jubilee's hands kissed it as he pushed the glasses more securely on the bridge of his nose. "My thanks, chère."

"No problem," said Jubilee. "I actually just wanted to get my hands on a pair of those 'Bans. I've been drooling over them for months now."

"In that case." Remy slipped the glasses off, flipped them around, and eased them on Jubilee's face, tapping the tip of her snub nose. Leaning back, he hummed thoughtfully. "Looks much better on you than me, Lollipop. Take 'em."

"Really?" Jubilee squealed, jumping up to strangle Remy in an excited hug. Rogue wasn't sure what led to the emotional out-pouring: the endearment or the shades.

Suddenly, Rogue's hands itched for her camera. The planes of Remy's face and Jubilee's soft, spiky hair had a lovely architectural structure. Sunshine streaked jaggedly between their faces as Remy danced an exultant Jubilee around the mat.

Finishing the impromptu salsa with a spin, Remy slung an arm around Jubilee's shoulders then reached out to include Rogue in the embrace. "Ladies, wish I could stay longer." He pressed his lips on Jubilee's forehead. "But I have to be in Manhattan in a couple hours and I still got to shower." He tipped Rogue's head down so he could kiss the crown of her head.

"Got a hot date?" asked Rogue.

"Now why would I go lookin' 'round when I've got two absolutely gorgeous girls right here in my arms, hein?" He winked.

Rogue pursed her lips. Glancing briefly at Jubilee then back at Remy, she crossed her arms.

"I don't have a date." Remy relented with a beleaguered sigh. "But I will by dinner time."

With that quip, he departed. Rogue caught Jubilee just before her friend swooned, bereft as she was of Remy's hot and sweaty support. "He's talking about picking someone up in the City and I'm still crushing," said Jubilee. "Am I perverse?"

"Yup."

Sighing after Remy's retreating backside, Jubilee confessed, "I can live with that."

Having surrendered his dreams of joining the X-Men long ago, Warren contented himself with throwing obscene amounts of money into the school, enough to make his dad rip his hair out in frustration. However, since W. Kenneth Worthington, Jr. voluntarily gave his son one-third of the company's shares in exchange for Warren giving up X-Men leathers, he really couldn't do anything about it. The real deals were a lot more complicated involving a troupe of accountants and lawyers but it boiled down to this: Warren tripled Worthington Enterprise's worth in ten years. A measly thing like politics was not going to get rid of him.

Nevertheless, Warren missed putting his training to use. Bobby Drake was the last student he picked up on behalf of Xavier's School. He kept in touch for nostalgia's sake but he had to admit, Bobby's... Bobby-ness changed duty into genuine pleasure. The kid had so much potential. He kind of reminded Warren of Scott when he first arrived. He certainly was as skittish about the stables as Scott used to be. The kid had nothing but relief of his face when Warren came in, announcing his intention to help brush down the horses.

"So, you're dating Paris Hilton, huh?" Bobby winked. "Watch out for hidden cameras."

Adjusting his hold on the curry brush to ensure, Warren said, "I can't believe you actually read magazines that would actually have things like that printed on it."

"I don't!" Bobby protested. "Jubilee eats it up though. Paris Hilton is her hero."

"Tell your friend that she could definitely find a better hero," said Warren. "Take Paris' PR manager for one; that woman is single-handedly turning her client into a global power." They exited the stall, giving the gelding a congratulatory pat on the neck. Warren pointed at an iron bench. "Have a seat. Tell me what the problem is."

"How do you know there's a problem?" asked Bobby, warily lowering himself.

With his ankle, Warren hooked another chair closer and sat on it backwards so his wings would have room to breathe. "Call it instinct. That and you didn't ask me for Paris' photo like you did when I was dating Liya Kebede. So, baller to baller confidentiality's in effect: what's up?"

Bobby took a deep breath. "When did you start growing wings?"

"When I was ten," Warren answered quickly. "But it didn't show until I was around fourteen. It was all feathers."

"How do you... I mean, like, how did you know that you had the bone structure stuff and--" Bobby shrugged, slouching into the chair in lieu of finishing his sentence.

"If you mean how did I know I could fly, I didn't until I came to this school," said Warren. "I knew I had wings and wings were for flying but I sure as hell wasn't going to try it out by jumping out of our condo." He chuckled wryly. "Not that I wasn't tempted every time my dad said something about surgery."

That pulled a smile from the teenager.

"Is there something new about your mutation?" asked Warren, encouraged.

"Sorta." Exhaling loudly, Bobby bent to fold his jean cuffs. Warren leaned back to give him air.

There was a thick block of ice stuck on Bobby's leg. Warren peered closer. The thick block of ice _was_ Bobby's leg.

"Holy shit," said Warren. Seeing Bobby's morose expression, he quickly amended his initial reaction. "I'm taking you to every party I'm invited to. You're like an instant cooler."

That made him smile again.

Warren knelt on the carpet, reaching out to inspect the leg. "May I?"

"Sure," Bobby said, nodding. "A patch comes and goes on my chest, too. This morning there was a new one on my thumb."

The patch felt exactly like ice, cold and slippery with no give at all. "Can you feel my finger?"

Bobby shook his head. "I can't feel anything in the iced up parts. It was just a little bit at first so I ignored it; I thought it was just, I dunno, spontaneously icing my body up or something. That used to happen before I came to school, when I didn't know enough to concentrate the ice away."

"And it's gotten bigger," Warren said.

"It's my entire shin now." Bobby voice pitched higher. "What if it covers my entire leg? What if I fall and my leg breaks? It's summer; what if I melt?"

"Hey. Take it easy." Warren shook the boy lightly. "I'm sure you're not going to melt. Remember what the professor said about your powers? You can take heat out of your surroundings. If you're spontaneously icing up, I'm sure that your body will suck the heat out at that spot, too. You're not going to melt"

"Really?"

"I'm not positive," Warren amended cautiously. "But it makes sense to me. Go to Dr. McCoy as soon as we're done here though. He'll run a few tests and let you know whether I'm full of hot air or not."

"But what if I turn completely into ice?"

"Then I'm hiring you for the next company function. You'll be wasted as my accountant." Warren winked, easing a chuckle out of Bobby. "Now, is there anything else or can we go back to the wonderful world of debits and credits?"

To his surprise, Bobby's neck went pink. "Uh, actually, you remember Rogue?"

"Of course," said Warren. "The one from Mississippi with the white stripe in her hair."

"Yeah." The flush migrated from his neck to his cheeks. "I kinda want to... Well, we're sorta, uh, having an anniversary thing I guess and... geez, I was _such_ a huge dork before I came to Xavier's. I don't know what to do!"

Warren did his best not to laugh. Slinging an arm around Bobby, he said, "Let me set something up, for you. I guarantee she's going to love it."

Yeah, he might not wear the leathers any more. But there were other ways to be a hero and Warren liked this role well enough.


	23. Past Interlude 7, San Diego, CA 1998

**Past Interlude #7: San Diego, California - 1998**

* * *

Starter. 

Alex distractedly rubbed his wet hair with a towel, still unable to process the news. He wasn't the only junior in the varsity team but he was the only one chosen as starter. Heck, this was the first time in a decade that a junior stood on the first string. Everything was numb-- the bruises, the sprained fingers, the C+ in his Trigonometry test-- it was all gone, replaced by a warmth at the pit of his stomach.

"Hey, it's Alexander the Great!" Clyde Norton, the quarterback, gave Alex a comradely jab in the kidneys. "You still look like you're shell-shocked, man."

"I think I am," said Alex honestly.

"Don't be," Clyde said, heading for his own locker. "You earned it, man. You work your ass off everyday; everyone knows it."

Alex beamed. The warmth in his stomach spread outward, displacing the numbness. "I don't know who to tell first."

"I remember when I told my dad," said Clyde as he dug through his locker. "We went out got us the hugest steaks on the west coast. Medium rare. Practically still mooing. How're you gonna celebrate, Great One?"

"I don't know yet," said Alex. "I'm going to sleep on it and see if it's for real or just a really good dream. I know it's just a dream if Tiffany Amber Theisin walks in right now. Or maybe the dance team."

"Summers." Clyde rolled his eyes. "You guys make a brother look bad. They still talk about all the times the girl's volleyball team would sneak Remy into the bus for their away games for a little... late-night aerobics."

Now it was Alex's turn to roll his eyes. "It wasn't the whole volleyball team, it was just three and it wasn't every away game, just the ones in the early season."

"Whatever, man. My sister told me the team's winning streak ended when the principal stopped him from going along." Clyde elbowed him. "You should try to get some of that here, Great One. Might boost morale."

"I'll see what I can do," said Alex. He turned back to his locker and threw random items into his bag, not really caring what they were.

"There was that party back when we were freshman." Clyde hooted as he towelled his back down. "The man should hold conferences, y'know? 'How to Lay Every Skirt in a Mile Radius.' It'd sell out even if he charged a hundred bucks. Was it true he had five girlfriends at once and they knew about it but didn't care?"

"Two," said Alex tersely.

Clyde snapped his fingers. "That's it, buddy. You're inviting me to your place and I'm going to get tips from your brother. Yet another advantage to having you on the team."

"Sure thing," he said, but the warmth was already receding.


	24. Shields Casting Shadows

**Shields Casting Shadows**

* * *

Without his eye-patch, Gen. Nick Fury blended into the crowd. At a couple inches under six feet, he had the most remarkably unremarkable face. His head was shaved and he had a week's worth of scruff on his chin. His good eye was brown with the slightest upward tilt, his nose neither sharp nor wide, his jawline just rounded enough to pass as a billion other jawlines. He was, in short, SHIELD incarnate: invisible but powerful. 

Tension knotted in Scott's neck and quickly travelled out at all points. Wasn't this just icing on the cake after yesterday's mission? He'd met Gen. Fury once just after he graduated from Xavier's. The man was on a quest and to hell with anyone who got in his way. Scott exchanged looks with Ororo. She didn't look any more comfortable. Hank was too quiet in his seat and Warren's feathers hadn't settled since he came in. In fact, only Piotr seemed unaffected by Fury's miasma; he was too young to know any better.

"Is that everyone?" Fury demanded.

"We're still waiting for Logan," said Ororo. "He should be coming in at any moment."

"Logan, huh?" Brows crinkled, Fury turned to Xavier. "Is that who I think it is?"

Xavier replied serenely, "Who do you think it is, Gen. Fury?"

Munching on his cigar, Fury declined to reply. He saved his words until Logan entered; then he couldn't stop growling. "Dammit, Xavier, I can let a lot of things pass but having him on the grounds breaches our contract."

"What contract?" Logan asked. Seeing that he was ready to do damage, Scott went into X-Men mode. On one visual sweep of the room, he had all possible obstacles logged and made note of objects to be kept out of the line of fire.

Holding a hand up, Xavier said, "Logan is here for rehabilitation, General. He helps Piotr with maintenance."

Fury snorted. "You want me to believe that you've hired James Logan as your plumber? You're either crazy or you think I am."

Logan's hackles went up. "You got a problem with me, bub? Let's take it outside."

"Logan," Xavier stressed the name, "is here as staff and a patient. He has gone through significant trauma the past few years. You know I never deny anyone treatment."

"Well you shoulda in this case." Fury stomped to the bookshelves where Logan stood seething. "You even act cross-eyed, you little hairy mutt--"

"Nicolas, you are stepping out of line!" Xavier was never closer to yelling as he was at that moment. "If you want my help, stop harassing my patients. Now please," he gestured to the Kevlar briefcase on his desk, "you had something you wanted to show us."

Giving Logan a parting evil eye, Fury marched to the desk. With quick, efficient movements, he opened the briefcase. A sleek array of touch-screens lit up softly and, after a series of rapid taps, buzzed to life. The largest of the screens projected a three-dimensional video a foot above the briefcase.

"We got this footage in Darfur seventy-two hours ago," said Fury. "Watch the guy east-by northeast. Is what he's doing look familiar?"

Those assembled scrutinized the dizzyingly realistic recording playing out in miniature before them. Warren cursed under his breath. There was just no way he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

"Telekinesis?" Ororo commented after a few seconds but Hank was already shaking his head.

"He's only throwing things made of metal."

Scott leaned back. "So what? Lots of powers double up in mutants."

"No, Scott, _look_ at him." Xavier was pale, aged in five short minutes. "It's Erik."

Warren arched back. "Professor, that can't be. I know he looks very familiar but that person's-- what, twenty-years-old tops?"

"Take a gander at the rest of these guys." Fury fiddled with his computer and the war zone dissolved into a line-up. Three women and four men stared blankly. Their facial features were too similar to be dismissed as coincidence. And while the prominent nose might be argued away, their pre-maturely silver hair could not.

"You told me Lensherr only had two kids," said Fury.

"As far as I know he only has two children living, both nearing middle age, and they are as far away from being mutant terrorists as possible," said Xavier, who covered his consternation under a mask of calm. "He isn't the type to carelessly father children."

"Not even to form an army?" Fury shot back.

"Magneto is many things," Xavier said, "but I refuse to believe he would do that to his own children."

"Yeah, he kidnaps other kids for that," said Logan. "Or did you forget about Rogue and Johnny?"

Xavier leaned back on his hair, his eyes half-closed in weariness. Scott stood to pour him some water from a mini-fridge discretely tucked in the antique bookshelves.

"You got Scotch there, kid?" Fury demanded. "I could use one. Neat."

"I'm sorry, Gen. Fury, but we don't keep alcohol in the premises," said Scott with a straight face. "This is a school."

Fury barked out what might have been a chuckle if tigers could chuckle. "Pull the other one, Summers." He returned his attention to Xavier. "So, it's a positive ID from all of you? The OpFor's from Lensherr."

Steepling his fingers, Xavier said, "General, if Magneto had such an army, don't you think he would have used it on American soil instead of foreign? He doesn't care about overseas politics; what he wants is here. If it's a war he wants, he'll bring it to the States." He tapped the desk for emphasis.

"Nowhere on American soil to train 'em," Fury said as counterargument. "Everyone knows you train outside the fight zone and fly the troops in. What better place than a country that's already so bombed up they wouldn't notice a couple mutie missiles flying around?"

Warren's wings snapped in attention at the careless wording.

Fury spread his hands on the desk, leaning down to meet the professor eye to eye. "Cards on the table, Xavier. Something this hot, nothings off the record. Not for us. We don't need a third party in that place, messing it up more than it already is. Give me something to shut them down and I'll keep the suits off your back."

"Until you need him again," Warren shot back.

Not bothering to disguise his impatience, Fury said, "That's how the world works, kid. I thought you knew that by now."

"Magneto only has two children living," said Xavier calmly. "He would tell me if there were more."

He and the general stared at each other, willing God only knew what. Finally, Fury straightened. "Fine. Thanks for your help, Professor. I'll be in touch again later."

Xavier extended his hand. "Of course, General. I am at your disposal. You should stay a while next time as a guest lecturer. I know some of the children wish to join the armed forces after graduation."

Fury let out his barking laugh. "Your kids are wasted on the US Army. Send 'em to SHIELD; we'll train 'em proper."

Scott rose to see their guest to the door, returning soon afterward with the tiniest of twists to his mouth that could mean anything from annoyance to indigestion. "What's going on, Professor? _Does_ Magneto have other children?"

The professor shook his head. "Impossible," he said. "Like I said, he is not indiscriminate."

"If he has secret children, he _is_ being discrete," said Warren.

"He's just crazy enough to do it, Chuck," Logan put in. "A guy like that with a Messiah complex; he'd be able to talk himself into all sorts of crazy shit."

Xavier studied his hands. When he finally looked up, it was with slow, deliberate movements, aged movements. Scott never realised how old the professor had gotten. "SHIELD has certain obligations to this school but there is a price." He stifled a sigh. "Two of our people will go with Fury to investigate the goings on in Darfur. If this is Magneto's army, we need to retrieve as much unbiased information as we can. I will contact Muir Island Academy to see if they have personnel to spare. Logan, I would like you to represent our interests."

"Him?" Scott parroted at the same time that Logan muttered, "Great."

"I don't do army," grumbled Logan. "Besides, you heard the guy. I did something to him that pissed him off."

"What a surprise," Scott said with wry humour.

"I understand your concerns, both of you," said Xavier. "However, I cannot spare a teacher at this moment and Logan does have the most military training despite his amnesia. I need you here, Scott."

Damn. Scott barely held back the curse. It wasn't that he didn't trust Logan; the man did was what right ultimately. His methods, however, left much to be desired. There was something about the words "quick" and "quiet" that never seemed to key into Logan's head. He had bad feeling about this.

* * *

Her hair tangling behind her like ferns in a hurricane, Lorna leapt into Alex's arms and covered his face with kisses. Alex breathed her scent in. After spending a night stuffed in a gym full of other anxious bodies, she smelled like freedom. Or at the very least, like proper hygiene."Omigod, Alex, I heard that your dorm blew up last night and I was so worried that you were hurt and the last thing we did was fight and--" 

Alex gentled her tirade. "I'm fine," he said firmly so she'd know it was true. He brushed one lock behind her ear. "How are you? Is your place safe?"

"We heard the bang from down the street," she said, her voice tremulous. "We thought it was an earthquake or an eruption. What happened?"

"I don't know," said Alex honestly. "I think--" He exhaled, unwilling to put words to his suspicions. "Look, I want you to stick somebody all the time, okay? Never get stuck anywhere alone."

"Why?" Bewildered, Lorna drew back slightly. "Alex, what happened?"

"I don't know," he said, a little louder this time. "I don't know but I think it has something to do with... with my family."

"Family?" Her eyes widened. "Omigod, Alex, you're not with the mob or something, are you?"

Alex let out a laugh. It might have been hysterical. "Not quite. It's not something I can share."

Hurt, Lorna angled further away. "Not even with me?"

"Sorry, babe. Not even with you." Inspiration struck him. "Hey, have you seen Milbury around?"

"That doctor you said creeps you out?" She shook her head. "No. Do you think it's him?"

Alex paused. Okay, he really liked Lorna. _Really_ liked her. He could even see himself living with her in a few years. But if he told her about Milbury, he'd have to tell her about his family and if he told her about them, she'd run screaming the other way. Or she'd sleep with Remy.

"I can't talk about it," was what he said in the end.

Lorna sighed. "Alex, I really wish you could trust me more. You just shut down when I try to communicate."

"Oh, jeez," Alex whispered under his breath.

Obviously, he wasn't quiet enough because Lorna left his arms completely. Fists as her waist, she said, "I heard that, Summers. I was worried sick about you being hurt or worse and when I want to talk a little all you do is act like I'm about to give you a shot."

"Lorna, we can communicate all you want when I come back but right now I have to find--"

"Come back from where?"

"New York," he said quickly to distract her. No such luck.

"New York? It's almost finals!"

"This is important," he said. "I'll tell you all about it when it's over, I promise. I just need to find Milbury. Or Kim. Have you seen Kim?"

"He's gone to his parent's place for the weekend."

"Damn." How was he going to find one man, albeit a distinctively creepy one, in a campus this big when the other only person who'd know Milbury on sight was on the other side of the island?

As if lit from on high, there stood Milbury, pale as the moon, his body swathed in black even in the sticky tropical night. He was looking right at Alex. If he hadn't been desperate, the timeliness of his appearance would have rung alarms in Alex's head.

Alex grabbed Lorna's shoulders. "I mean it," he said. "Don't go anywhere alone. Is anyone from your dorm here?"

Troubled by the gravity in his tone, Lorna nodded then turned her head as she pointed to a similarly attired girl gawking nearby. "My roommate came out with me."

"Okay, go to her. I'll watch you." He kissed her cheek tenderly. "And as soon as you can, go straight in your room and lock the door, okay?"

"Alex, you're scaring me."

"I hope I'm just being paranoid, babe." He kissed her one more time. "Don't worry about school; I'll work something out with the professors if I miss too much work."

"Work something--" Lorna was now hopelessly lost. "Alex, how long are you going to be gone?"

Instead of replying he kissed her again. Then he made a bee-line for Milbury.

* * *

Remy braced one leg against the wall behind him, letting his cigarette smoulder from the corner of his lips. While Piotr and Rogue tried to get their drawings finished-- his on traditional paper, hers on AutoCad-- Bobby and Jubilee valiantly saved the world from utter destruction via the PlayStation. The kids' conversation filtered through the open patio door, interrupting the early morning cricket chorus. 

"Bobby, is your entire body wired to the console?" Rogue asked.

Bobby released his tongue from between his teeth long enough to reply, "No."

"Then why are you dodging and jumping around so much? It's not helping any."

Jubilee hooted and proceeded to kick large, rotting zombie butt. "I heard that people who play video games are much better at multitasking and have better hand-to-eye whatchamacallit... coordination. Make great pilots."

"Just don't fry the console again," said Bobby. "It's a sign of a bad loser."

Jubilee thwapped him with a pillow. "That was an accident."

"Had nothing to do with the fact that I had twenty more kills than you?"

"Completely incidental."

Smiling, Remy let his head tilt back. Tobacco smoke curled out of the way only to return, haloing his head. Not for the last time, he congratulated himself of his excellent taste. Rogue was the perfect assistant in this bunch: not as flighty as the Ice Cube or the Lollipop but not as serious as the Tinman. She was instinctive, something this place was seriously lacking. Her response during their little vacation in Nevada was pretty damn impressive for a seventeen-year-old; reminded him of another seventeen-year-old who was damned determined to prove something to the world. Also, she was real nice to hug, much better than the other three.

Remy heard a chair creak followed by Rogue's lusty sigh. "I'm going cross-eyed." She yawned. "I wish I could draw a straight line."

"They have a fantastic invention called a ruler." Remy's comment made everyone jump. He crushed his cigarette at the threshold. "If you look it up on eBay you can grab it for twenty whole bucks. Good deal."

Piotr's eyebrows rose to his considerably noble hairline at Remy's bedraggled appearance but said nothing.

A slow smile crept over Rogue's face. "Hey you. Any word?"

Remy snorted. "What good's word gonna give us now? Whoever's got Adam is long gone."

"We will return to the mine a fifth time to gather more information," Piotr offered in consolation. "I heard the teachers discussing it. They have someone from Muir Island Academy retrieving the trashed computer data as we speak."

"I heard it too but with the new teachers here and the new school yeah coming up fast, who the hell knows."

"Mr. Summers wouldn't let us down," said Piotr, staunchly defending his newfound hero. "What more his own brother?"

Remy cocked his head to one side. "Yeah. You'd think, hein?" He dropped cans of soda on the desk-- one for Rogue and the other for Piotr-- took one for himself then lobbed the remains of the six-pack on the couch. "I was going to print off some of the pictures. You want yours?"

Rogue glanced over at the couch. "Hey, Bobby, wanna come see my pictures?"

Bobby glanced briefly only his shoulder, his tongue once again caught between his teeth. "In a sec, okay? We're coming up to the mansion."

"I think I know where the key is this time," said Jubilee.

"You said that the last time and I got eaten by a zombie gorilla."

Rogue shrugged wryly. "I guess I can go. My click finger's all worn out anyway." She skipped to the couch and ruffled Bobby's hair. "See you in a few."

He squeezed her hand briefly. "Yeah, sure, Rogue."

"Boys," Rogue said in a huff as she nimbly followed Remy to his room. "I swear, once you hook 'em up to a game, you might as well be invisible."

"You got shoes and purses, we got games and cars," said Remy. "Don't matter how much you explain it, the other sex is never going to understand. My room's down the north wing. I'll just grab the laptop and you can have a looksee."

She wrinkled her nose as she passed him by. For a second, Remy wondered if she felt something was off but then remembered her barely concealed distaste for cigarettes during their road trip. Remy shrugged off his jacket in deference.

"How was your date?" she asked diplomatically.

"Date?"

"The person you got all buffed up for yesterday?" Rogue elaborated. "The one who left that lipstick stain on your pants."

Remy wiped distractedly at his legs. He studied the dark pink smear on his hands. "This musta been Denise."

"You remembered her name. How gallant of you."

"Aw, Peaches, don't you be getting mad at me." He slung his arm around her. She stiffened and Remy was genuinely hurt. "I didn't hurt anybody none. I'm not that kind of player. And I washed up before coming home so you don't got to worry about any cooties."

"It's not that," said Rogue, still too rigid under his arm. "I'm not used to people just..." She bit her lip for a moment then shook her head. "Sorry. Forget it. I'm just trying to get away from the cigarette stench."

Letting out a chuckle, Remy said, "That's the ornery partner I know and love. Now, c'mon. You got some pretty good shots. When we have the time, we can print it out big and frame it."

Rogue blushed. "Let's not." At Remy's questioning expression, she said, "I don't show my pictures to everyone."

"They're good."

"But they're mine," she said. "Just mine."

He scratched at his chin whiskers. "Did you want me to print them off then? I could just burn them on a DVD if you want."

"Let's see them first." When they arrived in his room, Rogue looked around for a piece of furniture to sit on that was less volatile than the bed where the laptop lay, its screen blinking with stars.

Seeing the problem, Remy picked the computer up. "Ever been on the roof?"

"Of the mansion?"

"Sure." He gave her the laptop and jumped over the bed to the window. The sash flew up with little complaint, unlike the third floor windows. "I used to always go up there. Gives you the best room to think."

"Aren't you worried I'll drop this?" Rogue shook the laptop.

"Nah, you'll take care of it. Just follow my lead." Confidently, Remy threw his leg over the side and stretched his arms up to look for a handhold on the gable.

"That's what you said in Kelsey."

Remy easily pulled himself up over the gable, barely grunting with the effort. "And still you follow." He lay flat on the roof and hung an arm down for Rogue.

"I know. It's kinda depressing." After handing Remy the laptop, she peered out the window. The ground was a nauseatingly long way down. A shallow brick cornice protruded from the base of the window and a gauged arch echoed it above. A small sunken lunette crowned the window.

She muttered something along the lines of "In for a penny," before grasping the window jamb. Lying on his stomach, Remy hung an arm down to guide her up.

"I love it up here," he said, standing as soon as Rogue was steady in her place. "I could never breathe properly in there with Kentucky Fried verbally copulating with Scotty over Temuchin's attack on the Jin Empire then doing some downstairs sign language with the Ice Queen with the other hand."

Rogue wavered between amusement and disgust at his disrespect. "Ice Queen?" she asked instead.

"Emma Frost," said Remy. He hopped on top of the gable's ridge, easily finding his balance. "The professor's first five students were Hank, Scotty, Jean, Emma, and Warren. They gave him the idea for this whole set up."

"I've never heard of Emma Frost," said Rogue.

"That's 'cause you're female." Holding his arms straight forward, Remy bent his knees then, in an inhumanly graceful movement, leapt on top of the next gable. "Anyone with a dick has heard of Emma Frost. She runs another mutant school on the west coast. Tried to get me to teach there." At Rogue's snort, Remy pretended to be insulted. "You don't think I'd make a good teacher?"

"Last time I checked, picking locks wasn't in the standard state curriculum."

"Maybe not in New York, but California..." He grinned. "Wanna learn how to parkour?"

"That sounds like something I should be doing with Bobby," said Rogue.

"Jumping roofs, Peaches," Remy said with mock severity. "You caught on real quick back in Kelsey. You got the makings of a great traceur."

"I thought we were going to look at pictures." But Rogue stood up nevertheless. "What's a traceur?" She had a little trouble with the gargled French "r."

"Something that started in France," Remy explained. "Parkour's being able to go anywhere no matter what the obstacle, moving anyway you want to but being fluid doing it, not making it a labour. For example, most people would get from here to there by sliding down, grappling around and all."

"Or they'd never got on here to start with," said Rogue.

"But they'd miss on this fantastic view!" Remy stretched his arms wide. "See that forest? You don't see old world growth like that any more not even this far upstate. In the fall, it looks like it's on fire. You could hire a plane or something to get you up and see it but why when you can just perch up here? The air is just--" He took a deep bracing breath-- "take a breath, Sugarplum, and tell me that don't fill you up like a five-course meal."

Rogue threw her shoulders back and filled her lungs, wobbling only slightly.

"One more time," Remy commanded. "Until you're dizzy from having so much oxygen."

"If I fall, I'm going to haunt you," Rogue said. "Especially if you're just stalling because you lost all my pictures."

"I can deal with that. Let's start simple; walk that ridge but don't make it laboured. Just sort of--" Remy's hands made a flourishing movement, like a push at the air. ""-- make it like a sidewalk."

"Easy enough." Toes pointed for effect, she glided along the ridge and back. "I used to compete in gymnastics when I was little," she explained. "I quit before high school but some things stick."

"No kidding." Remy crouched down on his haunches. "I mean it, Peaches. I can teach you some good parkour moves. Give you a little extra something to do when you're in the leather suit downstairs. Maybe take down a few names while kicking a whole lot of ass."

Rogue tilted her head to one side uncertainly. She knew from Danger Room exercises that she was at a disadvantage in combat situations. Her powers just weren't strong enough unless she managed to get to someone up close.

"Thanks for the offer, Remy," she said. "But Logan's already teaching me judo. I don't have time between that and normal training and school."

"That right?" Remy shrugged. "Can't compete with a man in that haircut, Stripes. Not even gonna try."

"You are the absolute limit!" Rogue laughed. "I'm going to practice my moves on you after I start training."

Squatting at the corner of the gable and the roof, Remy said, "See, that's the beauty of parkour. Before you can get anywhere near me to try and kick my ass, I'd've run far, far away."

"Chicken?"

"When you're this sexy, you gotta protect yourself."

Remy flipped away from Rogue before she could smack his head.


	25. Past Interlude 8: Astoria, OR 2003

**Past Interlude #8: Astoria, Oregon - 2003**

* * *

This time, Adam planned his escape better. He told Dad that he was sleeping over at a friend's house for the long weekend. He IM'd Lee to pick him up from the bus station, assuring her and her dad that he had permission to visit. He even got Dad to quickly give vocal assent through the phone. True, his dad thought he was talking to Adam's classmate, Greg Lee, not Adam's online buddy, Lee Forester. 

Adam lay back on the fishing boat, sucking flavoured sugar from a candy stick. He was not missing school at all.

"Hey, lazybones." Lee pushed him with a booted foot. "Shove over."

He slid half a foot to the left so that Lee could lie down on the deck with him. With their cheeks nearly touching, they stared up at the gulls weaving through the slack sails and occasionally arguing with the ravens on the shore. Lee smelled like the sun and melons and sea brine.

"Lee," Adam said slowly.

She turned her head towards him and smiled.

Rising on an elbow, he drew closer to her and pressed his lips against hers. Her breath stopped; she didn't move at all. Adam pressed his lips tighter against hers, lips still closed. He held that for two full breaths then flopped on his back again.

"What was that?" asked Lee.

"Uh, just checking," said Adam.

"For what?"

He shrugged. "I like you. I just wanted to know if I, y'know, _liked_ you liked you or just plain liked you like a friend or just... uh..."

Lee fingered her collar. "Adam, I like you as a friend, you know that. It's not that you're not awesome or anything and you're cute as hell but I'm just not into you like that. Sorry."

Shaking his head, Adam said, "Don't be. I'm not into you like that either. At least, now I know I'm not. I wasn't sure at first though. Especially since... uh... there's that... uh...thing..." He flushed from his ears to his navel and it wasn't from the sun. "Y'know... the website thing?"

"Oh." Lee studied the spot between her feet for a while. "So you're sure now?"

"Pretty sure. I think. Mostly."

"Okay. I guess my dad'll be relieved about that. No need to threaten you with a shotgun." Smiling tentatively, she elbowed his side.

Relieved, Adam returned her smile. "You're so ungirly, it got me real confused."

She laughed. "There's no way to be girly on a fishing boat, Summers."

"I've got to tell you about Alex's latest girlfriend. She could be girly in the middle of a Mexican wrestling match."

"Alex is the sporty one, right?"

Adam grinned. "Yup. Adam's Sporty Spice, Remy's Ginger Spice, and Scott's Scary Spice."

"So that makes you Baby Spice. With the pigtails and the babydoll dresses"

Casually, Adam hit Lee with a glove cured by years of handling halibut. After a brief tussle which resulted in the both of them smelling as fragrant as a pile of fish, which was to say not fragrant at all, Adam and Lee decided that a dunk in the ocean was needed. They stripped to their bathing suits-- what passed for underwear around here-- and leapt into the cold Pacific waves.

"Doesn't the water ever warm up here?" Adam asked after nearly an hour of swimming.

"If you can't handle it, go back to California." Lee drawled the last word into a passable Valley accent.

"It's boring as hell there when school's out so--"

Lee sent him a withering look. "How dumb do you think I am, Summers? I can google as good as you; I know that your school runs on a normal timetable, not a year-round one. Which means you're missing classes. Which probably means that your family doesn't really know you're gone. Hey, don't swim away while I'm talking to you!"

"I'm not," lied Adam. "I just need to get back on the boat." He hoisted himself up, flopping on the deck like a freshly caught tuna.

Lee followed, a little more gracefully. "Should I let you sulk or can I ask questions right away?"

"Do you think your dad will hire me?" Adam asked.

"What?"

"Do you think your dad--"

Lee cut the question away with her hand. "I heard you the first time. I just couldn't believe it. You do know that most people try to move _away_ from Astoria. Dying economy and all that."

"You're not," said Adam.

"No, but I'm a throwback. I actually like fishing. I like this sleepy old place where people sit on lawn chairs and watch each other, gossiping. I like that my extended family bug each other on a daily basis."

"So do I," Adam said. He pulled his shirt on then rested against the mast. "You know what I'd be doing right now at home?"

"Drawing on the computer and chatting with me?" joked Lee.

"Yeah," said Adam, not joking at all. "I could open a mechanic shop here. You don't really want to drive an hour away to fix up cars; the local place is a joke. I can just set up shop here and fix them and boat engines both. There's nothing in a car engine that I don't know; a boat can't be that different."

Lee gathered her shirt-hem nervously around two fingers in her right hand. "Adam..."

"And on Sundays, I can keep helping your mom cook. No offence, but you suck at chopping and your brothers think everything is a fish that they have to behead."

"Adam, wait a minute..."

Desperately, he smiled and leaped from the poop, walking clumsily past the bridge. "I bet I can even wrangle a way to get your mom to leave Tupperwares of food in my apartment like she does for your eldest brother. The Summers charm never--"

"Adam, will you just listen?" Lee smacked her hand against the railing

"No!" Adam shouted back. "What are you going to say, huh? That my family would miss me? News flash: they've probably _just_ noticed I'm gone."

"Adam, that's not true."

"Then why aren't they here yet? They're a smart bunch of bastards; it can't be that hard to track down one stupid fifteen year-old." He sank to the floor. After a few minutes, Lee sat beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I bet you that as soon as we get home, they'll be waiting in the living room," said Lee softly, "ready to yell their heads off about you running away. Maybe Sporty Spice'll smack you around a bit."

"He enjoys that."

"If I had to live with you twenty-four-seven, I'd enjoy it too." She threaded her hands through his. "They're looking for you. I know it."


	26. Frying Pan

**Frying Pan**

* * *

A tab or two of E would come in real handy right now. Adam shifted from one foot to the other, trying to find a way to cover his privates. _Dignity_, he heard Scott's voice echo in his head, _whatever else, keep your dignity and you'll thrown them off._

_Even when you're with a bunch of other naked people in a really high tech re-make of a B-movie?_

_Especially then._

Adam straightened. He lifted his chin, not because of the collar this time.

Dignity, he reminded himself. But with a little more fun.

A trio of workers made their way down the line: one with a gun, one with a tablet PC, and one with a small cart of instruments. They hemmed and hawed before Adam, consulting the incongruous little computer before the one with the cart whipped out a stethoscope.

"You going to warm that before you use it?" Adam asked him.

The scientist didn't acknowledge the words. He pressed the cool plastic circle to Adam's chest, listening intently.

"Guess not." He took a few deep breaths. "Boy, am I glad you came, doctor. I've been having these fiery pains shooting up my ass. Could you kiss it and--"

A rifle butt stopped his words. Quite painfully. Tears pricked his eyes.

_Dignity_. Scott didn't shout; he just turned the volume up.

Adam blinked away the tears. He spat out a gob of blood. "Gee whiz, I'm also gonna need a recommendation for a dentist."

This time, the gun slammed into his side. Air flew from his lungs.

"And I think... I've developed... asthma."

Seeing the guard raise his weapon again, Adam ducked into a ball.

"No."

Usually British accents got Adam extremely hot and bothered but this one made his dick invert. He did not want to mouth off to this guy. Hell, he didn't want to look up. Unfortunately, the rifle stock that had so recently been intimate with his stomach slid under his chin, lifting his face.

An expressionless mask stared back at him. The mask's mouth moved, almost like it was alive. "Which one is this?"

The scientist with the computer twiddled for a second. "CA-III-ASR3."

"ASR3? Really?" The mask smiled. Adam commanded himself not to piss his figurative pants. "But of course he is. I recognize his features." He pulled Adam up by the arm and he followed wordlessly. "How many times has he been harvested?"

"Twenty-eight times, sir. The last one ten hours ago."

Adam shivered as the mask walked around him. _Dignity be damned, Scott. This guy is freaky!_

"And have there been any successful combinations?"

"Oh, yes sir!" the scientist said elatedly. "Ninety-three percent of the combinations resulted in potentially viable zygotes which, I need not tell you, is far beyond the average. A few of them have spectra that can't even be charted should they pass the first stage."

"I did not expect anything less," said the mask. He stared at Adam's eyes. "How perfect," he murmured. "I predicted nothing less, of course, but this is just perfect."

Suddenly, he whipped around to address the scientist. "I specified that all subjects coded CA-III were to remain isolated and under high security for the first cycle. What is he doing with here?"

The scientists blinked, their lab coast shivering. Adam wished he could feel good about that but he was still intent to keeping his bladder from bursting. "W-We received no such order, sir."

"Now you have. This genotype is far too unique to be among the chaff. Take him to the third floor immediately. And send the results of his harvests to my office."

"Third floor? But, sir, he's only been here for--"

"Doctors, with a ninety-three percent success rate, do you really think we need further testing at this level?"

The scientists blinked at each other. "I suppose not, sir," said the one with the instruments.

"Good. Third floor. The first exercises should have just begun."

Proverbs and sayings had always fascinated Adam. Once, he tested the adage "out of the fat and into fire" because his Social Studies teacher was so fond of the saying. He took a chunk of back bacon and dropped it into a pan full of hot oil, watching as the square bubbled in the liquid. Then, with a pair of tongs, he dropped the bacon into the actual stove element. The bacon jetted out of the stove like a miniature comet, coming within inches of landing on Adam's arm before curling into a black speck on the counter in the time to took for him to remember to breathe again.

In other words, his jar was the fat and the third floor was the fire. If he could get out of the third floor as a smoking curl of meat, he'd consider himself lucky.

Below him were four large... well, "rooms" didn't adequately describe them. Scott told Adam about a Danger Room where he trained to save the world from certain destruction (well, Scott didn't put it exactly that way but Adam knew his brother enough to read between the lines). This was something like that. One environment had the sandy remains of a Greek ruin. Another took place in a deciduous forest with trees the size of jetliners. The third room took a page out of Indian Jones with spiked pits, dangling snakes, and bursts of flame. The last room was entirely underwater.

None of the duellers seemed to know that they had spectators in the transparent ceiling. Or if they did, it didn't matter since they were too busy trying not to die. Four winding lines of people waited behind four short balconies. One guard marched up and down the lines for every five people. The rest of the people in the line up all wore the same grey one suit as Alex and had the same collars banding their necks.

"You!" His armed escort pulled a redheaded guy out of the closest line. "State your registration number."

"GA-V-DRA7," Red replied.

"Well, GA-V-DRA7, this is CA-III-ASR3. He's starting exercises today." The guard thumped Adam on the back and he didn't bother to be gentle. "Show him the ropes. If you cheat, we'll know."

"I do not cheat," the redhead said stiffly.

Snorting doubtfully, the guards walked away. Adam's hands rose to his collar, hoping it would loosen the lump in his throat. It was loose enough for a finger to wedge through. The sleek metal had no catches that he could feel, smooth except for three buttons just over his jugular.

"There's no way to remove the inhibition collars," GA-V-Whatever said, seeing Adam's gesture. "You won't die if you try to remove it but you'll wish you did."

"What happens?" Adam had to ask.

In reply, the pointed to a woman in one of the exercise rooms. A guard stood over her, pressing a button on his belt, his expression bland as she writhed like, well, like a piece of bacon in hot oil.

"The rules are simple," said GA-V-Whatever. He pointed down at the Indiana Jones room. "You have twenty minutes to find your opponent before they find you. If they do not destroy you first, you have three rounds to destroy them."

"Destroy?"

"Yes." His expression bland, the redhead continued. "Once you have destroyed your opponent, you return to the training grounds and--"

"Wait, wait, wait, I'm still stuck on the destroy part." Adam wiped beads of sweat from his upper lip. "What do you mean by 'destroy'?"

The redhead stared at him like he was wrong in the head. "You must render them incapable of continuing."

"And we do this how?"

"By any means necessary, of course."

"Of course." Adam's stomach rolled. Curling into a little charcoal ball looked good right around now.

Logan knew he'd been in Xavier's too long when he didn't wait for repeated carpooling requests before giving in. Heck, this time he thought it was a good idea. After SHIELD picked him up from the designated point, there'd be nobody to take the bike. While it would be fun to needle One-Eye-- needling seemed to bring the best out in the guy-- Logan had just spent a lot of time and money modifying the bike up. He also wasn't so far gone that the prospect of spending twenty minutes in a car with four teenagers out on a daypass filled him with glee.

"Just drop me off at the turnpike," Logan said then repeated the instruction at a higher volume.

"I know!" Bobby yelled good-naturedly. "I heard you the first time."

"How?" Logan wondered aloud. "The car's volume could blast the balls off a brass monkey."

Piotr kindly turned the music down a notch. Literally just a notch. He was the only one with a driver's license and he knew it. Thankfully, he was polite enough to offer Logan the keys first. "Would you like to drive first?"

"Yup." Logan snagged the keys, unfettered by the same good manners.

Two false starts and one fill-up later, Logan and the big silver minivan-- Christ, he was driving a minivan!-- rumbled down the freeway, the kids blessedly knocked out by a combination of Johnny Cash and Kenny Loggins. Logan whistled. Yep, nothing like proper music to soothe the savage teenager.

"How long before we get to the City?" whispered Jubilee. "My brains are oozing out of my ears."

"Bleah," was all Piotr could muster.

Bobby and Rogue leaned against each other, fast asleep.

An extensive search of the main building failed to turn up any living creature except for staff, new and old.

"I think I saw a few kids head for the rose garden," said David Semple, one of the new teachers, as he poked around his new classroom.

Scott smiled his thanks. Cutting through the observatory, he made his way to the southeastern side of the grounds where Ororo and a small group of botanical enthusiasts had turned three pathetic little rose stalks into a veritable Eden. Sure enough, a crowd of children stood in the middle of the walkway, their faces angled up toward the roof.

Scott knew exactly what they were looking at.

"Hello, Teresa." The young girl squeaked and jumped up, hands clasped over her mouth.

"Hello, Mr. Summers," she said, uncupping her mouth just enough to let her voice through.

"Is my brother on the roof?"

"Yes, Mr. Summers."

"Is he on his head, hands, elbows, or any other body part excluding his feet?"

"Yes, Mr. Summers."

"Will you let me know as soon as he falls off and breaks his idiot neck?"

Teresa's eyes widened. "Yes, Mr. Summers."

"Thank you, Teresa." He ruffled her hair and leaned down. "By the way, you got the highest mark in the algebra quiz. Congratulations."

All residents now accounted for, Scott returned to the sub-basement to continue his research. He logged in twenty whole minutes of searching when an ear-shattering "Cyclops!" filled the room. Scott felt his entire spine freeze, then, just as quickly, unlock as it always did after that first rush of adrenaline. "Cyclops, it's Rogue! We need backup right now."

"I can hear you, Rogue. Report."

"Some people just attacked us," she said. "They hit Jubilee and Bobby. Logan went to get them but he made Pe-- Colossus and me go back to the van and drive away."

"Good," said Scott. "How long before you get back?"

"We're not going to go and help them?"

"You aren't," Scott said implacably. "Storm and I will engage them."

"But--"

"No, Rogue, you don't have enough combat-experience and Colossus doesn't have long-range powers. Besides, I need you both to return so we can get details." As an afterthought, he added, "Logan can take care of them, don't worry."

It was a mutinous Rogue that clambered into the Blackbird thirty minutes later. Piotr nearly twisted his seatbelt buckle into scrap as he secured himself. If Rogue had the strength, she would have done the same.

Up in the cockpit, Storm locked into Logan's cell phone as well as Bobby and Jubilee's commelinks. "They're heading for the coast," she said.

Cyclops pulled the jet to a tight turn, sending Piotr clanging against the side of the cabin. The armrest he used to steady himself buckled under his hand.

"Do you see anything on the cameras?" Cyclops asked Storm.

She shook her head. "But I… wait." Her brow wrinkled. "I'm picking up something on radar." Studying the readings more closely, she added, "It's in the same coordinates as the trainees' commelinks."

"What is it?" asked Rogue.

"I don't know. But it's big."

Cyclops inclined his head at the windshield. "As big as that?"

An airship of massive proportions bobbed into view. It was nothing less than a football field on propellers if football fields were gunmetal grey, had cannons every five feet, and were patrolled by large Kevlar-decked men wielding machine guns.

"What is that?" asked Piotr.

Cyclops's visor flashed. "That's the SHIELD Helicarrier."

The radio pinged. Cyclops and Storm exchanged puzzled looks. Who had this frequency except for Logan and the kids?

"Attention, Blackbird," said a perfectly forgettable voice. "You are on restricted airspace. Fall back five hundred feet and state your purpose."

Storm pressed the reply button. "This is the Blackbird. We are not aware of any restrictions over this airspace."

"Consider yourself warned then, Blackbird. We repeat, fall back five hundred feet and state your purpose."

"We have registered three individuals onboard your ship that belong to us," said Storm. "We would like to confirm their presence."

"We do not relinquish the identities of the persons in our ship without the proper authorities." Forgettable voice or not, the speaker was too smug. "I must repeat, fall back five hundred feet or we will be forced to take offensive action."

Clouds rumbled over the two aircrafts.

Cyclops flipped his mike on. "Helicarrier, this is the captain of the Blackbird. Patch me to Fury."

The other side went silent in surprise, Cyclops hoped. "Do you have the password for that line, Blackbird?"

"Sure thing, Helicarrier. Leave channel eight open for my transmission." He flipped down a small keyboard and typed out a series of seemingly unrelated numbers and Cyrillic letters.

After a second, the forgettable voice said rather sulkily, "Transferring you to Gen. Fury, sir."

"That's nice," said Cyclops. "Are they going to land any time soon? This jet doesn't do hover."

"Why don't we land on the Helicarrier?" asked Rogue. "They've got a lot of space."

Storm shook her head firmly. "I would rather crash than allow this plane to touch anything that belongs to SHIELD"

"Now, Storm, be nice." Cyclops smiled and it was anything but friendly. "Who knows what they'll do to poor helpless Logan if we aren't polite." He pulled the controls slightly to the left to maintain the wide orbit around the other aircraft.

The radio snapped on. "This is Fury. That you in the Blackbird, Cyclops?"

"Yessir, General. We seem to be meeting more often than our scheduled bi-annual updates, sir."

"What are you doing in my airspace, Cyclops?"

"You have three of my people, General. We've followed their transmitters to the Helicarrier and I have two witnesses that say your people attacked them just half an hour ago."

Fury let out a barking laugh. "Damn, boy, whoever you have doing your tech, I want him on my payroll."

"I'm afraid that's impossible, sir. Our techie is afraid of heights and the Helicarrier never touches down." Cyclops made another turn, this one a lazy barrel roll along the length of the larger aircraft. "Please confirm the presence of my people on your ship and give us their ETA."

"Three people, huh?" Fury's cigar chewing featured briefly on the radio. "Well, we picked up Logan and two kids just past Mount Pleasant half an hour ago."

"That's them!" Rogue said, lunging against her seatbelt. "That's where we were."

Cyclops nodded but put his hand up for silence. "Excellent. So if you'll just drop them off right where you found them, we'll all be on our way."

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Beg your pardon, sir, but why the hell not?" Cyclops' voice hardened.

"James Logan is a priority one target for SHIELD," said Fury. "Until we can determine his intentions, we can't release him or his associates."

"General, the Professor talked to you about Logan," said Cyclops, his voice gone quiet with rage. "We had an agreement."

"We did," Fury conceded. "But that agreement only goes as far as your property. We found him outside."

"Then let us have the kids!"

"My hands are tied, Cyclops. I don't call all the shots in SHIELD; I just lead the battalions." Fury added in gruffer tone. "I'll see what I can do about releasing them ASAP."

"I want daily updates on their condition," said Cyclops, pointedly eschewing the "sir." "Nothing better happen to them."

Fury growled. "Is that a threat, Cyclops?"

"You damn well know it's a promise. Cyclops, out."

This place had no bathrooms. That shouldn't have come as a surprise to Adam since he still had a tube stuck in an unspeakable orifice but there was still an inherent wrongness to being in line on the way to some cracked up ultimate fighting contest and having to do the pee-pee dance. If at all possible, Adam didn't want to go to his doom with literally crap in his pants.

The rest of the prisoners shuffled forward, eyed trained on the glass floor. In contrast, Adam watched the line-ups. In the time it took for him to get to the front of the line up, he'd noted three types of prisoners. The first, his category, were the scared pissless. They looked at other prisoners, the ceiling, the guards, the doors-- everything except the floor where their goal lay.

The second group comprised of the keeners. Red--GA-V-DEFGH-Whatever-- was definitely in this category. If they weren't shadow-boxing, they watched the fights with as much passion as the most ardent of spots fans.

The unreadables made up the last group. They weren't scared; or if they were, they didn't show it at all. Nor did they seem excited by the prospect of beating the ever-loving crap out of someone else. They probably lined up like this in the motor vehicles department, at Disneyland, on their wedding day...

Every few rounds, the fighting rings changed. The Indiana Jones room went through a Mexican marketplace phase and a skeevy backalley phase before the present moonscape blebbed. Whoever designed the fighting rings must have been a hard-core gamer before signing up to mess with muties.

The good news was 'destroy' didn't mean kill. The bad news was it actually meant anything up to that point. Adam really didn't need to see someone exit via a stretcher knowing that he was next in line. And he _really_ didn't need the guard to shove him down the Ladder of Certain Doom just so some scientists, who _really_ needed to hop out from behind their gaming consoles and get a life, wanted him to play a part in a life-sized version of Tekken.

"I don't even know how to activate my powers," Adam muttered as he descended. "I supposed I could always ask the other guy to grope my crotch but, what a minute, the other guy is a human hurricane who throws shiruken! Might be a little hard to get cuddly."

As soon as his foot hit the floor, the ladder zipped up and Adam was alone on the pretend moon. A rush of emotion climbed up from his stomach to his extremities; not fear strangely but anger. After a second's reflection, he realised he was really friggin' pissed off at his brothers. Scott was a leather-clad liberator who regularly flew in and saved mutants from big bad human tormentors! Remy was a master thief _and_ had gangster connections. Adam could out-shoot, out-stab and generally out-kick-ass any passing SEAL but between the three of them they couldn't find one frickin _huge_ laboratory with at least a thousand prisoners, maybe a fifty staff, and a private army?

Screw that!

His collar beeped. A quick rush of dizziness went through him, like when he got up too quickly after a long nap. He gave an experimental jump. Gravity worked here. Dust settled as quickly as it puffed up. It was the dust that warned him about his opponent.

Clouds of dust enclosed him, got into his eyes and blinded him. Adam swore. This was how the guy managed to whip everyone in this scene; he threw dust in their faces and when they were stumbling around, he'd shoot them full of shiruken.

He dropped on his belly and covered his head. He so wasn't trained for this. If it had been a drag race to the death, he'd be a bit more confident. But fighting? Not so much.

"Okay, so there's something about eyes," he muttered to himself for the lack of anything else to do while waiting for a couple pointy stars to embed themselves in his flesh. "Makes sense. Scott's powers are in his eyes. Remy's eyes are all weird. He was it was like flexing a muscle in his head; he thought about things exploding and things exploded. "So I have to think about the human hurricane over there turning into barbeque and..."

Adam closed his eyes and thought so hard he nearly lost his breath.

The dust storm showed no signs of stopping.

"Not good, not good, not good." Adam crawled on his belly, away from what he thought was the source.

Except it wasn't because he was staring at the source's bare toes.

Because Adam closed his eyes again, he never saw the heel that connected with the side of his head and knocked him out.


	27. Past Interlude 9, San Antonio, TX 1988

**Past Interlude #9: San Antonio, TX -1988**

* * *

Mrs. Jaworski scrubbed Scott's face extra hard but he didn't say anything. Dad told her to get them cleaned and dressed up. Alex took to the scrubbing a lot worse; he didn't like anyone interrupting him from his Legos. 

Curling his knees to his chest, Scott licked his finger and turned the page on his book. They were probably going to eat out. They always ate out when Dad was accidentally late. Always driving slowly, always taking the quietest routes to the restaurant no matter how much longer it took. Alex still cringed when he heard brakes screeching.

"Alex, dear, put the juice down for a minute so you don't spill it over your nice shirt." Their babysitter struggled to button Alex into his shirt. His little brother was a big wriggler.

"I like my old shirt," said Alex mulishly.

"It's a great shirt but your daddy wanted you to dress up. You're probably going to dinner in a nice restaurant! How would you like that?"

"I _don't_ like nice restaurants!" Alex yelped. "I want hotdogs! With strawberry syrup! And peanut butter!" He giggled at his own joke.

"You don't want to eat that at the same time," said Mrs. Jaworski. "That'll give you a tummy ache."

"Mommy would let me eat it."

Scott could feel the discomfort oozing out of Mrs. Jaworski.

"Oh, honey." She tried to tuck Alex's hair back but the little boy backed away.

"I'm not _your_ honey; I'm Mommy's honey! You're not my mommy so you can't call me honey!" He kicked his precious Lego castle over. "No one can call me honey except Mommy!"

"Okay." Mrs. Jaworski held both hands out, half kneeling so she could look Alex in the eye. "Okay. I'll never call you that name again. You're right. What should I call you instead?"

"I'm Superman!"

Meantime, Scott's ears picked up the sound of wheels on the driveway. He knew that engine. He folded the corner of the book's page, his heart beating raggedly in excitement. But it was Alex who voiced his hope.

"Daddy!" The little boy whooped and scrambled to the front door. "Daddy's home! Daddy's home! Daddy's home!"

Scott jumped off the couch and slid on fuzzy socks to the entrance. He could hear his father's deep murmur just through the door and it was all he could do not to jump up and down like a kangaroo on sugar just like Alex.

The door swung open and Chris Summers strode in, arms laden with plastic bags, teeth white and sparkling under his moustache. "How're my boys? Oh, pardon me, how is my boy and my yellow-haired monkey?" Alex had latched onto his leg like a leech.

Scott shifted on his feet. "I got an A in my math test," he said, not knowing why he wanted to duck when his dad ruffled his hair. "Long division."

"Of course you did," said Chris. "I didn't expect any less. How about you, monkey?"

"Ooo-oo-oo!" Alex grunted. He peered into the plastic bags. "Did you get me new Legos?"

"I got you something better," said Chris. "Scott, could you get this bag for me? No, just the one; the other's too heavy. Ah! Sofia, thanks so much for staying over while I was gone."

"Not at all," Mrs. Jaworski said. "They're fun to be around when they're not spilling Kool-Aid on the kitchen floor." She tweaked Alex's nose who, appeased by their father's return, could forgive anyone anything at the moment.

"Did you lick the floor clean again?" Chris asked Alex.

"Uh-huh."

"That's my boy." Chris gave the rest of the bags to Mrs. Jaworski. "I'll be right back. I left my surprise in the car. Get into the living room, both of you, and no peeking."

"I bet it's a super triple duper big Lego set!" Alex babbled as he climbed on to the sofa. "A huge, huuuge, huuuuuuge box with a million hundred million ten hundred Legos!" He flopped back on the cushions with a sigh, dazedly contemplating what he'd do with his mountain of imaginary Legos. Scott pushed his legs aside to make room. He was still clutching his book, the tips of his fingers white with the pressure.

Mrs. Jaworski's heels clicked-clacked out to the driveway and the door opened again. Scott wanted to look at his dad's face, he really did, but all he saw was the hand his dad laid on top of another boy's head. He was scrawny with a scornful set to his mouth and a row of half-healed scratches on his arm. Bad enough he was glaring at them but did he have to glare with such weird eyes?

"Who's that?" Alex demanded.

"This is Remy." Scott had never seen his dad so uncomfortable. Chris rubbed the back of his neck. "Remember I told you I was going to New Orleans to pick up a surprise? Well, this is the surprise." He nudged Remy forward but the boy refused to budge. His hands clenched on his bag's strap much in the same way Scott's were around his book.

"I don't get it," said Scott.

"He says he's my dad," Remy said bluntly. His words tumbled out half-formed, like he was still sleeping while he was talking. "Pert 'near took my tongue off when I heard, me."

"Remy, I'll handle this, son."

Scott saw Remy cringe at the same time that he did and scowled at the coincidence.

Chris led the new boy into the living room, pushing him to the big armchair by the fireplace. He then turned to face Scott and Alex. The latter was frozen in the upside-down position he'd taken after bouncing around on the couch. Sighing deeply, he crouched in front of them.

"I know you boys miss Mom a lot," he began. "I miss her, too. But that's why I brought Remy. He's the new member of our family so there'll be four of us again just like it was before."

The explanation made absolutely no sense to Scott but he didn't want to say so.

"He's not Mommy," Alex said, finding his voice. "He's _not_ Mommy!"

Chris closed his eyes. "I know that, Alex but--"

"He's _not_ Mommy and you _didn't_ bring Legos and I _hate_ you!" Alex leapt off the couch and ran to his bedroom,

Massaging the bridge of his nose, Chris said, "Scott, you can handle this, right? You're my champ; come on, show Remy you've been raised right."

Scott's grip on his book was so tight the pages bit into his fingers. He'd find paper cuts later. But for now, he nodded and stiffly slid off the couch to where the boy-- Remy-- stood.

"I'm Scott," he said. He wanted to say more-- maybe something about sharing rooms or video games or favourite Saturday morning cartoons-- but the sides of his throat glued shut. He could barely even breathe properly. Forcing a gulp of air into his lungs, he opened his mouth but again, nothing came out.

The boy-- Remy, he had to remember his name!-- looked everywhere before meeting his eyes. One of his weird eyes had a bruise forming just under it. He leaned back and crossed his arms, his chin lifting imperiously. "Done staring?"

"Done posing?" Scott shot back as soon as he recovered from the shock.

Remy's eyes flickered to his book. "So you're the family nerd."

"Better than the family dog." Scott wrinkled his nose. "When was the last time you had a bath?"

"'Bout the same time you last got called to play ball."

Chris let his forehead fall on the sofa. Suddenly, this "reunion" was beginning to look like an explosively bad idea.


	28. Fire

**Fire**

* * *

The kids half-heartedly roamed the halls as they were taught to do during missions. If they hovered, they could accidentally give away the entrances to the sub-basements. Also, the hallways were now silly with bullet-proof alcoves just in case there was another raid. As long as they were moving, they couldn't get trapped. 

Hank and Kelly remained upstairs with the children while Scott and Warren took the new staff down to the council room where the Professor was already waiting. Hank and Kelly were more versed in safety guidelines and the situation was a good introduction for the newbies. They knew working here was a hazard, but actually seeing it in action would temper them. Kurt calmed the youngest kids best and Remy-- well, Remy could distract them.

"Colossus, please repeat your report," said Scott, standing at his place near the table.

Calmly, Piotr folded his hands. "We stopped at a gasoline station for fuel and food. I remained near to car to pump gas while Log--Wolverine--" he amended, forgetting briefly to use code names for the official reports, "--Iceman, Jubilee, and Rogue headed for the store. Iceman was twelve feet from the door when he fell to the ground as if in a faint. Wolverine yelled at us to return to the car. However, Jubilee also fell before he reached the car; she was closer to the store than the rest. Only Rogue came in and even then I had to restrain her and lock her in. Wolverine stayed behind with Iceman and Jubilee."

"We shouldn't have left them," said Rogue, arms stiff against her sides, lips bitten raw. "How am I supposed to get combat training if every time a situation comes up, I have to leave?"

"We can address that later," said Scott. "Right now, I'd also like to hear your version of the story, Rogue."

Looking like she would protest once more, Rogue sighed and let it go. "It's just like Colossus said. We were going to get snacks; Wolverine was going to get some cigars. Jubilee went on ahead but I had to fix my gloves-- they're new and they're not fitting right. Iceman was waiting for me but I told him... I told him to get me a Slurpee before Jubilee took all of the cream soda." Her eyes went glassy but she bit her lower lip again. The pain seemed to give her strength. "I wanted to give Wolverine back-up but Colossus pulled me back into the van. They didn't just fall though; they were shot."

Mrs. Rasputin gasped. David Semple, who used to be a cop, cursed lightly while his fellow new teacher, Narda Vardalos, did the same with more energy.

"You never told us you were shot at!" Mrs. Rasputin nearly yelled at her son.

Piotr's cool cracked. "I didn't want to worry you. It isn't new for us."

"Yes, but the reason you came here was to get away from such situations."

"Again, we'll table that discussion for another meeting," said Scott. "Where were they shot, Rogue?"

"They weren't bullets," said Rogue. "There wasn't any blood. They were tranqs; I'm sure of it. Jubilee had one on her shoulder and Bob--Iceman h-had a couple in his chest." She turned to face Scott. "Why did we just leave? We coulda landed on the Helicarrier and talked something out. I thought you guys knew Gen. Fury."

Scott's mouth twisted slightly downward. "You don't really know Fury. Most addicts don't really know their dealers." He brought up a map which tracked the missing X-Men's commelinks. The three X's were now blinking over the Atlantic. "What we have is a grudging symbiotic relationship."

"But still--"

"Rogue, I know you're upset," said Cyclops. "I'm not that happy with Fury either but I'd rather have him on our side looking after Bobby and Jubilee than pissed off and throwing them all in jail. Or worse, recruiting them into SHIELD."

Remy was racking up another round of eight-ball when Rogue streaked through the room.

"Hey, Peaches, where's the--"

She ran out the other door into the formal dining room.

"--fire?" He'd never had a girl pass by him so quickly. This bore investigation.

She ran up the servants' stairs like three flights was a ski run then barrelled through a small group of younger students on the second landing who immediately flattened themselves against the wall, one of them literally flat. Remy had never been on this side of a chase; those cops had no excuse for failing to catch him! Granted, he didn't telegraph his movements as much as Rogue did.

Stopping abruptly near the middle of the hall, Rogue wrenched open a door and popped in. The stained-glass window beside it shivered as the door slammed shut. That was a broom closet; Remy memorized the blueprints to this place and he really doubted it had been rebuilt completely in the past four years.

Pathetically little sniffles reached his ears, muffled by the door and cloth. Remy set to work immediately, flipping a tiny screwdriver from a pocket. Broom closets barely needed to be picked; he'd taught a seven-year-old Alex once. In fact, a strong tug could loosen the tumbler sufficiently but Remy would rather not damage the mansion. It was too damned nice.

"Didn't anyone teach you what a locked door means?" Rogue snapped as he stuck his head in.

"Sure." Remy grinned unrepentantly. "Made me more interested in what's behind them. Scoot over."

"What?"

"Scoot over. I'm coming in."

It was a good-sized closet, seating two comfortably even with the shelves fully stocked. Remy saw Scott's influence in the militarily perfection of the supplies and the inventory list stuck to the back of the door. Rogue curled up beside a toolbox with giant packs of toilet paper at her back for cushioning. Looking at his own back rest-- half a dozen mops, three brooms, and a pail-- Remy shrugged philosophically and dropped cross-legged on the floor.

"What's up, Sugarplum?" He tapped the toe of her shoe.

She ignored him, shoving her face deeper between her arms.

"Okay." Leaning back, he spread his legs so that they bracketed her body. "Go ahead and have a cry then. I'll just sit here and talk to myself until you get too pissed off at me to be pissed off at whoever else you're pissed off at right now." He tapped a rhythm on his knees. "Ever wonder about how old this place is? I'm betting pre-Civil War myself. There's bits of the walls that were way too easy to convert into hidey-holes and sub-basement elevators. Knowing Xavier's background, they were probably part of the Underground Railway. Hell, they probably went and hid Protestants from Catholics in France then Catholics from Protestants in England before going to help blacks from whites in Antebellum South then Jews from Nazis and now down to mutants. Man's got a messiah streak a mile wide."

"Do you always talk this much?" asked Rogue.

"Can't get me to shut up," Remy answered. "Unless, of course, you tell me what's up."

Sighing, she shifted her head on her knees so that her cheek rested on her forearms.

Remy tapped her shin with his foot once more. "Fine then. Make room. I'm pulling out the big guns."

"What--" Rogue looked up only have the world shift left and go stripey as Remy lifted her onto his lap and pressed her face in his chest. "What are you doing?"

"Feelin' you up, Peaches." He chuckled when she squirmed. "Hold still, I'm kidding! I'm giving you a hug. You look like you need one."

"Why?"

He didn't speak for a second, simply stroking her back with a wide, callused hand. "Because you're my partner still. Far as I know you haven't said 'You're an incompetent poop and I quit' so here I am. Partners take care of each other, hein?"

Rogue clenched her eyes shut and relaxed into the embrace. When her breath evened out, she said, "Someone shot Bobby and Jubilee."

"Ah, shit." His arms tightened. "Shit, Sugarplum."

"I don't think they're dead," she said. "But we had to leave them. L-Logan stayed behind to find whoever did it but they're off somewhere now and we can't get to them and I couldn't help! Pete threw me in the van and made me leave them! No matter what happens, I'm always some damned Scarlette O'Hara clone getting shoved off to one side for my own protection. I mean, why do they bother to train me if they're not going to let me help?"

"Stripes, you're trained for self-defence, not combat," said Remy.

"Then I want combat training," Rogue said, her fists grabbing handfuls of Remy shirt as though she could squeeze the breath from the shooters. "I want someone to teach me to fight. I'm not gonna be a liability any more."

"Of course you won't," Remy said soothingly. "I'll teach you to fight."

"You?" Rogue leaned back slightly, unconvinced.

Remy gasped, pretending to be hurt. "I'm hurt, Stripes. You think Cyclops was the only one who had to attend aikido class?" He tugged on her shirt lapels, smoothing the wrinkles and straightening the folds. "What's that you said to me before? We'll work twice as hard. Make up for lost time."

Gingerly, Rogue leaned forward against Remy again. "Thanks, swamp rat."

Remy was going to say something pithy to cancel out all the mush but as luck would have it, Teresa needed more toilet paper for the girl's bathroom just then. Predictably, her reaction to seeing them in each other arms brought the entire wing out of their rooms.

Narda whipped Rogue away after sending Remy a scathing look. Shrugging gallically, Remy wound his way through the mansion to the garage where he could hop on a bike and disappear while everyone cooled down.

At least, that was the plan. However, Scott came barrelling down the hall with his "Your ass is grass" expression along with Mr. Forbes Five-Hundred-Dollars-a-Capped-Tooth, effectively cutting off Remy's escape route. He threw his hands up in the air. This was not a good day.

"Remy," Scott began, "what were you doing with--"

The doorbell rang.

"I'll get that," Remy said. When God closed a door and all.

He almost made it to the door and out of Scott's hearing range but one of the kids beat him to it. "Mr. Summers!" hollered the kid that would soon find all his belongings in the reflection pond. "Someone's at the door for you!"

"We'll continue this later," said Scott as he brushed by.

"Sure," Remy said amiably, spinning on his heel. The garage. He could still make it to the garage.

A perfectly manicured hand grabbed his shirt. "You're not going anywhere, buddy," said Warren Worthington the Third Most Obnoxious She-Male. "I'm got my own bone to pick with you."

Bonelessly, Remy slipped from his grasp and turned the tables around so that he had Worthington's hand twisted quite painfully. "Aw, shucks, sweetheart. All you had to do was ask." He batted his eyes as he gave Worthington's ass a hefty squeeze. "But what'll we tell Scott?"

From the door came a retching sound. "Oh, gross, Remy! Jesus, of the top ten things I do _not_ want to see, my brother groping another man is one of them."

Alex's voice so surprised Remy that he actually forgot about heckling Worthington. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Me?" Alex exclaimed. "Who was the one who said he'd make-out with a corpse before he set foot back at Xavier's? And unless you're planning to kill Worthington with disgust, he doesn't count."

"Quiet, both of you," said Scott. "I want to talk to you in my office, right now. Alex, you better have a good explanation for leaving school a month before finals. Remy, stop molesting my best friend and everyone else with an unplugged orifice."

Alex saluted snidely. Remy also saluted but it was only with one finger. Scott zapped them both with an optic beam but Remy deflected it with a charged card. Both beams hit Alex, one on the chest, the other on the thigh.

"Motherfucking ow!" Alex launched himself at Remy who rolled back, using Alex's momentum to throw him into the wall. Twisting his body into a more suitable position, Alex bent his legs and leapt back at Remy who blocked his fists efficiently.

"Stop moving," Alex grunted.

"Stop hitting like a girl," Remy shot back. He pointed at Scott. "He's the one who shot at us."

"Well, your face pisses me off more than his," said Alex.

Hooking Remy's ankle, he tried to trip him up but as Remy fell, he grabbed a fistful of Alex's shirt and dragged him along so that Alex cushioned his fall.

"I'm going to kill you," wheezed his younger brother.

"Yeah? You and which moshpit?"

Scott ended the fight by letting out a weak, wide beam. But not too weak. Alex and Remy tumbled back on their rears.

"Stop shooting at us!" Alex yelled.

"I would if you stopped acting like toddlers!" Scott yelled back. Realising they had an audience, he struggled to modify his volume. "My office. Right now, or I swear to God, I'm going to shove your balls so far down your throats, you'll shit white."

Remy reached into his jacket and charged three cards. Scott placed a hand at his visor's controls and braced his feet for a blast. Alex whipped out a couple of arnis sticks and whirled them in his hands.

None of the students watching in the sidelines moved. They barely breathed.

"Forget my office. We're all going to the Danger Room quietly," said Scott, gathering the fallen pieces of his temper back inside his gut. "Once we get there, we are going to beat the holy hell out of each other. And when we're finished doing that, everybody is going to slink back to their respective holes for the next ten years. Is that understood?"

"But I was--"

"Shut it."

"What about--"

"Shut!" Scott pointed at the panel hiding the sub-basement doors. "Danger Room. Now."

"Woof," Remy said sulkily but obeyed.

* * *

Adam awoke in a broom closet or a cell. As cells went, these were pretty posh. The bed was nice and firm with real sheets, not those ratty numbers you saw on TV. He twisted into a sitting position, taking his surroundings in stock. Heated floors, bouncy bed-- he reached out to tap the sink-- actual ceramic stuff. There were even toothbrushes and face towels in a little shelf over the faucet. The toilet didn't appear to have toilet paper but Adam found three buttons over the stout tank. Pressing the right-most one resulted in a stream of water arching just where his butt would be positioned should he ever need to sit down. 

Joy arced up inside Adam, too. If he had a toilet that meant-- he ran a finger down the crease of his buttocks and then cupped his penis-- no tubes! A split second after that, he realised he was bare-ass naked.

"This is messed up but if it means no tubes, I'll take it," he announced to the wall before promptly falling back on the bed and sleeping again.

The second time he woke up, it was completely dark except for a few tiny green or red lights blinking in inestimable distances from his room. Adam blinked, rubbed his eyes and waited for his night vision to kick in. It had always been better than average and when he'd been younger, he thought he'd have that as a mutation. Then he could go to Xavier's like Remy and Scott.

Charcoal shapes materialised out of the flat blackness, edged here and there with green and red. With a start, Adam saw that his cell didn't have bars. Cautiously, he extended his hand towards the missing wall.

"It will burn you," said a voice.

Adam jerked back.

The voice continued. "When you have the collars, your powers do not work so if you were relying on them to protect you, you will find yourself disappointed. And wriggling about on the floor in a great deal of pain."

"Uh, I don't think I have that power," said Adam.

"Unsurprising." The voice snorted. "You lasted all of three seconds in the pits."

Adam was glad of the darkness; it hid the bright redness of his cheeks. "Yeah, well, I must have missed ultimate fighting in PE class. Had the chicken pox." He squinted, trying to find the source of the insult. "Who are you?"

"You are far too new to be on this floor," said the voice. "Most of us have risen because we have shown the full extent of our powers during exercise."

The speech patterns clicked Adam's memory. "You're the redheaded guy," he said. "GA-V-Whatever."

"Gav-7," the voice said, highly insulted. "And you are Cai-3. You supposedly killed Teke-2 but I have not seen anything too impressive."

Adam nearly fell out into the invisible burninator door. "What? No! No freakin' way! I mean, like, I didn't kill anyone but I can be damned impressive if I really wanted to. I'd like to see you drag a quarter mile in ten seconds without popping a blower, dude. And my name is Adam."

Silence. "What?"

"Exactly." Adam leaned back on his bed, satisfied he'd won this round so far.

A few seconds' worth of shuffling later, Gav-7 asked, "You are familiar with technology?" he asked.

Adam was so startled to hear the question that Gav had to repeat it before Adam could answer it. "I know a lot about cars," he said.

"What of comp-yoo-ters?"

Adam cocked his head to one side. "As much as the next person, I guess."

Gav made an impatient sound. "I am the next person and I know nothing. Scalphunter has been here for years, even before I was unplugged."

"Whoa."

"Indeed. So, what do you know of comp-yoo-ters?"

"Uh, it has a monitor, a keyboard, a mouse, and a CPU," Adam recited, trying to understand what Gav was looking for. "Most of them run on Microsoft systems but Macs are more popular with artists, students, and people who like matching furniture. They're all Internet connected now and the newest models don't even have floppy drives any more. Hell, what are you looking for?"

Gav-7 didn't speak for a few seconds and when he did, it was with even more deliberation than usual. "When you are next called to fight in the pens and you meet your opponent, ask him or her if the weather has been rainy lately."

"Weather? What are-- "

"If he or she replies 'I hope it will stop soon,' tell him or her that you have always liked umbrellas."

Adam blinked. A lot. "This feels like a really cracked up episode of Punk'd."

"Do it if you desire life."

Then it was just him and the blinky lights again. And the soft rumble of generators overheard. And the muffled crying from his left and the snores from his right. Someone somewhere was licking something. A different someone from way, way off howled like a coyote with the click-click-click of the guards' boots on the metal floor as accompaniment. And always, the muted whirring of the collar around his neck.

Adam shivered as he hopped back to bed. "Hey, Gav?" When the other boy didn't reply, he shouted louder. "Gav! Gav-7, it's Adam. Cai-3. Are you awake?"

"No, but I am, kid, and if you keep talking with your little boyfriend, I'm gonna smash your head in when we do exercises," said a voice to the left.

"Sorry," Adam said meekly. He curled into the sheets for all of seven seconds. "What happens if I don't learn how to fight?"

"Shut up, kid!" Voice to the Left growled but remarkably, Gav-7 spoke up again.

"You will be demoted to the lower floors," he said. "I am told that is especially grating for those who come from the outside."

Frowning, Adam said, "That do you mean 'coming from the outside?' Where did you come from?"

Growling Voice to the Left piped up again. "I'm gonna tell you two where you're going if you don't shut the hell up!"

"That's Scalphunter," said Gav-7. "I spoke of him earlier. He is an exemplary maker of weapons. He is often aggravated. Most ignore him."

"Scalphunter?" repeated Adam. "Dude, that is so un-PC. Even if you really are Indian, you might as well call yourself Howling Wolf or Runs with the Elk or Bear With Two-Willies. Besides, what does scalphunting have to do with making things? If I could make things, I'd call myself the Maker. Or the Pimpster. Or Hephastion but that's like a different continent and I'm not sure that's PC either but since Lucy Liu played O-Ren Ishii in _Kill Bill_ even though she's not Japanese I guess that'll be like globalization so I guess it's okay as long as its not like Nike's version of globalization because that's totally not on and I haven't bought Nikes since I found out about their sweatshops. I'm totally a DC or Puma person now even though this guy in my class said that they're made in sweatshops too but I really don't believe him because he's one of those goth guys who hate on everything that's remotely popular but still hasn't given up on Marilyn Manson even when Manson went through that popular phase and everyone listened to him including the preppy kids who were trying to be hard core and, _dude_ was Lionel ever pissed off at that except I'm not really supposed to call him Lionel. His new name is Valmont."

"Christ, I'm in a quart with a motormouth." The wall rung hollowly was something blunt-- perhaps Scalphunter's fist or foot. Hopefully his head.

"You outsiders are a strange bunch," said Gav-7.

Adam started to ask what the heck Gav-7 meant by outsiders when a whisper drifted down from the right. "Sticks!"

"What?" asked Adam.

"Guards," Scalphunter translated. "Go to bed. Look whipped."

"Such a stretch," Adam thought as he flipped up into his cot. Huddled under the thin sheet, he listened for footsteps but these guards either wore carpet-soled boots or floated because he had no warning before the sheet was whipped from his body. The room was still dark and this time, the guards blocked out the green and red lights from the hall. Adam had a brief impression of hockey helmets or World War II gas masks before his brain was wrenched six inches above his skull and thrown into a spin cycle. He might have screamed. He definitely went into a seizure because he felt his knee crack against the wall.

When consciousness finally extinguished the fire from his brain, Adam realised he lay on the bed with his arms and legs buckled in a spread-eagle position. Something covered his entire head. He tried to scream but nothing would work.

"I hate tapping the new ones," said one of his captors. "It gives me the creeps knowing they used to come from the outside."

"Outsiders, vat-rats; they're the same thing," his companion said. A needle pricked the inside of Adam's elbow. "It's like people who grouse over farmed or wild salmon. It's all fish, y'know."

"Yeah, but the vat-rats don't act human. They're more like smart zombies." As he spoke, the first captor swiftly palpated Adam's stomach and poked the soles of his feet with a blunt needle. He pulled Adam's eyelids apart, his blurred face coming close presumably to check his eyes. His sure hands moved on to the rest of the inspection-- nose, mouth, ears, and just under the jaws-- with the swiftness of habit. "I mean, this guy has fillings. It's just creepy."

There was a grunt from his companion. "Grab a beer when we're through. It'll pass."

The drugs kicked in full gear at this time. Adam didn't know if he was thankful for it or not. The last thing he heard was "Did you catch the Pacers game yesterday?" before he slept again, dreaming of the Lakers soundly smashing the Pacers into dust.


	29. Past Interlude 10, Salem City, NY 1997

**Past Interlude #10: Salem City, New York - 1997**

* * *

Warren strode into the library with his offering on a refurbished dinner trolley. He rarely saw the kitchen outside of the occasional impress-the-date meal but after a few semesters at Yale, he could dial a mean take-out. All the better to help his fellow freaks remember that there was a world outside of Xavier's. 

Even after two years, however, Scott Summers still proved to be a hard nut to crack. Nineteen going on ninety, he was bent over the sunniest table in the room as usual, neatly stacked papers and textbooks surrounding his work area. Warren was willing to bet that each stack stood for one subject with each subject stacked in order of due date. The kid just had no concept of the phrase "take it easy."

"Knock-knock, Gamma Gaze." Warren had wanted to startle him but Scott was already looking up before the first word left his mouth. "How do you do that?" he asked. "I can never sneak up on you."

"Genetics," he said, tapping his glasses. "We all have good peripheral vision. Who's that for?" He sniffed appreciatively.

With a smooth flourish, Warren snapped the take-out cartons open. "Mostly for you but I ordered extra cannelloni because I really couldn't resist. You've been holed up in here all week. The others sent me in to see if you were still alive."

The corners of Scott's lips tipped up. "Thanks. I'll be finished this in a second and I'll come out to eat."

"To heck with that." Warren cleared space on the table with one wing. "I'm going to force-feed you. I mean it when I said we're all worried. What are you studying for? I thought your finals were over last week."

"They are but Alex and Adam's aren't until mid-June." He tapped a pen on the stack directly in front of him. "Adam's doing his first big book report and Alex is having trouble with history of all things. The kid can do solve logarithmic equations in his head but dates are beyond him." He circled a word. "As is simple spelling, apparently. In what universe is 'congress' spelled with an 'i' and two 'r's?"

Grinning, Warren swiped the pen from his hand. "Your brothers can go for one night without you checking their homework. How are you supposed to get this to them on time anyway?"

"They fax it to me every night," said Scott. "Is that okay? The professor said it was all right to use the school fax line but I know you're in the middle of a merger so if it's tying up the phones, I can go to the mall and use the--"

"I'm not worried about the fax machine," said Warren. "I'm worried about your sanity. Do you go out at all?"

His face reddened. "On weekends. Sometimes. I swim."

"As part of your PE mark." Warren slid one of the take-out boxes to his side of the desk. "Take a load off, Scott. Come down to Harry's with us. On a school night. That'll be doubly rebellious."

"They have to get good grades," said Scott around a mouthful of fettuccini, artichoke hearts, and sweet peas. "Remy graduated by the grace of God alone and Alex won't be able to keep his golf scholarship if he fails a class."

"Will Adam's life end if he doesn't get perfect on his fourth grade book report?" Warren asked lightly. He peered at the title. "NASCAR Racing? Why wasn't I assigned books like this in school?"

Scott smile grew a little wider. "Adam's read it seventeen times. He's been planning to do a book report on it ever since he found out that the fourth grade did book reports."

"May I see?" Warren held his hand out. Hesitantly, Scott gave him the glossy sheets of paper then pretended inordinate obsession with his fettuccini. "This is pretty good," he said after a little while.

The younger man's cheeks reddened even more. "You think so?"

"Definitely. Are you sure he wrote this? This is at least sixth grade vocabulary."

"Every word," said Scott. "I'm just checking for typos."

"Your brother's pretty talented." Warren returned the homework. "Someone's raising them right. And from what I've heard, that someone is mainly you. Garlic bread?"

"Uh. Thanks. They're probably just using stuff we had before; recycling homework. Good for the environment." Scott fumbled with his glasses then the fork then again with the glasses.

Warren rolled his eyes. "Shut it. You're a paragon and you know it. Every time I call, the professor's talking about something or another that you've managed to excel at. I keep expecting him to announce that you've discovered cold fusion or the cure for cancer or something."

"That's Jean's job. The cancer. And Dr. McCoy does cold fusion I think ever though he might be concentrating more on biology nowadays." Scott managed not to squeak that rejoinder out even though he was as red as his shades.

Warren laughed. "As a humble mortal, it's my duty to corrupt you. It's Wednesday Hump Day. We should be painting the town red."

"Well..."

Seeing Scott's indecision, Warren moved in for the kill shot. "Jean's coming. Bruce the Braindead just dumped her and we were going to celebrate her freedom. It wouldn't be half as fun at Harry's without you there to hustle the frosh."

Scott grinned. "You're not half bad yourself. The bewildered aristocrat act always gets them going."

"Yeah, but your fumbling nerd act is the best. You better stop working out or it'll ruin your perfectly scrawny physique."

Scott shoved him away, snarling in fake indignation to which Warren replied by swatting him easily with his left wing.

"So it's a deal? You're coming to Harry's with us."

"Fine, fine," said Scott. "But not too late. I've got to fax this stuff back over to LA in time for the kids to do their rewrites."

But Scott stayed at Harry's until well past closing as was the habit of any Xaviers' students when they managed to get together. Since there were an unprecedented four alumni present, there was extra cause of celebration. Scott never knew if Warren had deliberately put him and Jean in the same cab back to campus but he got his first kiss from her that same night. And when Scott fairly floated downstairs with a grin that threatened to split his face in half, it was Warren who winked and patted him on the back.

"I knew you had it in you, Gamma Gaze."

Scott fumbled with his pickets. "Warren, I don't think she feels like that about--"

The older man stuffed Scott's protestations with a bran muffin. "Eat breakfast. Tell Jean there's a paleoanthropology exhibit downtown. I've got tickets for you and reservations for lunch afterwards."

Helplessly, Scott tried again. "But Warren, I'm only twenty. She still thinks I'm the kid she tutored in chemistry."

"You're in love with her, right?"

Scott gagged on the bran muffin and hoped he would die so that he wouldn't have to hear the rest of this conversation. Maybe he could expire of acute mortification.

Warren smiled. Tabloids and legitimate press alike vied to capture that smile. "Go for it, Summers. Jean deserves the best and far as I can tell, you're it."

Scott shook his head disbelievingly. "Nuh-uh, man. You're the one who can buy a small tropical island with your pocket change. Besides, you're closer in age."

"But I'd only break her heart," said Warren lightly, his face hidden in his coffee. "You never will. Go for it before I change my mind, Summers."

"Warren." Scott swallowed a few times but the bran muffin was a lump in his throat. "I... you... I can't ever..." He gulped the muffin lump down. "If I do this, there's a custom bike with your name on it."

"That was all I ever wanted."


	30. Sick, Sad World

**Sad, Special World**

* * *

Books and movies tended to compare skilled fighting to a dance. After watching Mr. Summers and his brothers go at each other for the past twenty minutes, Piotr couldn't agree with the metaphor. Dancing implied a sort of communication between the dancers, messages delivered through subtle body movements. What the three men in the Danger Room were having was a complete lack in communication. 

The blond brother-- Alex, Piotr thought his name was-- used his entire body to rail at the top of his figurative lungs. He pulled no punches, telegraphing his moves with wide, arcing hits that were as effective as they were simple. A sharp jab with an elbow, knuckles to the solar plexus, punch-kick combinations intended to throw his opponent to the floor in under a minute.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, Remy slunk around the arena. His moves were flashy little flourishes: round-house kicks, lightning jabs, and ad-libbed throws. He went for the weak spots, the cheats like the neck and under the arms. Hong Kong film directors would have loved to capture him on celluloid and the hell with the wire-work.

Mr. Summers fought with clean efficiency. He didn't hit so much as throw and didn't throw when he could step away. More often than not, he did nothing more than take advantage of his brothers' own momentum to bash them against the floor. Or the walls. Or his knee.

While still living with his Russian-speaking parents, Piotr once watched a Scottish film where all the actors had brogues as thick as Cerebro's doors. After half an hour of trying to translate, he switched channels only to catch a commercial whose spokesperson spoke in a lazy Southern drawl. For a few seconds, his brain shut down and Piotr could only gawk as his language centres fought to realign. He knew they were speaking English but he couldn't understand a word of it. The fight down in the Danger Room reminded him of that.

The professor's voice entered his head. _How are they doing, Piotr?_

_They haven't broken any limbs, sir._

_I suppose we should give thanks for small mercies._ There was a flavour of humour running through the professor's voice although irritation bogged most of it down. _End the sequence and tell them that the junior team needs to practice now._

_Do we?_

_No, but they _will _break limbs if we give them the opportunity._

Piotr was very glad that he didn't have to leave the control room. If Cyclops stood like that in the middle of Math, it would have been a sure sign that the entire class cheated on an exam.

Three bruised and ragged Summers' filed into Scott's office, stiffly determined not to show pain. Scott rooted for a first aid kit while Remy threw himself sideways on the furthest chair and Alex leaned against the bookshelves with his arms crossed.

_Would you like me to mediate?_ asked Xavier.

_Thanks, Professor, but I can deal with my brothers myself._ Returning his attention to the physically present, Scott said, "Where the hell am I going to start with you two?"

"I think we got started pretty damn well in the Danger Room until someone wrecked our fun," Remy muttered, rubbing a sore spot in his right side that was sure to be a bruise.

Well, he certainly wasn't going to hear anything new from Remy. Scott turned to Alex. "Well? Are you in trouble?"

Alex was also nursing a few sore spots. "Ow, just give me the damn heat pack already; you're burning me in exactly the wrong place." He grabbed the plastic bag from Scott and settled gingerly on one corner of the desk. "Why would you think I'm in trouble?" he asked. "He's the one who's neck-deep in gangsters." He jerked his chin at Remy who flipped his favourite finger up.

"I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt," said Scott dryly. "I never ask Remy if he's in trouble because the answer is always yes."

Remy stiffened. "Hey!"

"That isn't half of it." Alex, all too pleased to interrupt Remy's excuses, hauled his bag up and dumped its contents on Scott's desk. "I did some more searching on the plane. It's one thing to move around some dusty old ceremonial masks. What about government-restricted information?"

Remy's eyes narrowed but he said nothing.

Scott picked up the file, flipping the cover open and studying the contents. The eight-by-ten photograph lay on top of everything, the camera's slight fuzziness doing nothing to disguise Remy's face. Bright red digital read-outs marked the date and time at the lower right-hand corner.

"Do you really think I'd do a job with my face uncovered?" asked Remy. "Obviously, the picture's been fixed."

"Then how do you explain all of the other documentation?" Alex fanned out several sheets of paper. "Remy, these are genuine FBI documents."

"How would you know about genuine FBI documents?"

Scott picked up one of the documents. He drew it closer to his face, studying the watermark and logos intently. "It looks genuine but forgery can be very sophisticated these days."

Alex threw his hands up and stalked away. "It's like convincing a pot and a kettle that they're green. Doesn't it occur to you two that while you guys are off playing cops and robbers that your perfectly normal brothers are getting the royally stiffed?"

Remy snorted. "Yeah, like your life has really been torture."

"Shut up, pencil dick. I just got a bomb shot through my dorm room."

"What?" That got the elder brothers' attention.

"And why do you think Adam's missing, huh? You think someone's thinking of ransoming him for Dad's massive navy paycheque?" Alex tapped the files. "Nuh-uh. This all smacks if you two and your never-ending quest to live like James Bond."

"Alex, that's enough," said Scott.

"I can shut him up," Remy said under his breath.

"Yeah, shoot the messenger. That's so typical." Throwing himself to the far side of the room, he said, "I spent two hours in California, half of one in Wisconsin, and a staggering five hours in Virginia before landing in JFK with this file burning a hole through my backpack all twenty-four hours. It's yours now. I don't give a shit what you do with it any more as long as it doesn't interfere with my life any more." He shrugged his backpack back on. "Have a good one, dorks, and don't call."

"You flew all the way here from Hawaii to give us this and now you're going back." Scott stated, one brow arched.

Turning slowly on his heel, Alex said, "No, I flew all the way here from Hawaii to give you this and now that I know you're all just going to sit with your thumbs up your asses, I'm going to look for Adam myself." Snorting, he added, "Knowing that bird-brained brat, he's probably trapped in his own locker, drinking his own piss to survive."

One of Remy's brows arched. "You live in your own sad, special world, don't you, Alex?"

"Much better than living with drug dealers and pimps," Alex shot back. "How much are you getting this month to give head to a mafia boss' daughter? Seven, maybe eight grand a minute? Triple if she comes--"

Remy dove across the room and the two of them crashed out of the office. Alex heaved Remy off by simply throwing himself, back first, against the floor. He and Remy were the same height but he had more bulk. Hearing Remy wheeze, Alex jumped up and caught Remy's arm into a wristlock.

"Give up?"

"Encule un poulet."

"Nah, that's your job." Alex pushed harder. "Don't make me break your wrist."

"You couldn't break a Kit-Kat bar---OW! Fine! Uncle already. Jesus." Remy sat up as soon as Alex released him, rubbing his forearm. "So, how're the steroids affecting your testicular diameter, Ah-nold?"

Smiling, Alex said mildly, "Don't hate 'cause you're jealous."

"The day I'm jealous of you is the day I start eating at McDonalds."

"Well, you _have_ been there before to use the glory holes."

His red irises glowing slightly with affront, Remy prepared to spring into a tackle. He was in mid-air, elbows ready to lock on either side of Alex's neck, when Warren walked by, arranging a perfect half-inch strip of shirt from his suit jacket. Other than one amber-coloured eyebrow arching elegantly, he said nothing, only standing there observing the now-frozen brothers who were, in turn, watching him. Then, with a small shake of his head that could almost be mistaken as a tick, Warren left.

"I hate him," said Remy.

"Me too," Alex choked out.

"Want to go to the garage and key his Bentley?"

"How old are you, twelve? Let's use my sais."

* * *

Scott fell back into his chair, groping in his desk for a bottle of ibuprofen. 

_Scott_, the professor said. _Is this a good time?_

_Hell yes, Professor_, Scott replied. _Please tell me you have something for me to do besides baby-sit my brothers. Whatever it is, I'll take it, up to and including kitchen duty_

There was a pointed silence from Xavier, like a blackout in the middle of listening to the radio. _It may not be my place to comment,_ the professor said, instantly stiffening Scott's spine, _but perhaps you should spend the rest of the day with Remy and Alex. Try to put your heads together in order to find a solution for Adam's disappearance and let us worry about Bobby and Jubilee._

_Thanks for the advice, sir, but I think we've all had enough of each other for today._ Scott said as he cleared his desk. His hand landed on the file Alex brought. One corner of a photograph stuck out among the papers, the top of Remy's head and his red-on-black eyes practically winking at him. Even on paper, he was a snot.

He had his doubts about Alex's source but he might as well give the file to Xavier. Tucking the folder under his arm, he made his way back down to the meeting room. The professor sat alone, staring contemplatively at the telephone in front of him. He looked up when Scott cleared his throat.

"I was just speaking with Nicholas Fury," Xavier said.

"What did he have to say?" asked Scott. It was obvious by this tone that he wanted to use a more explicit epithet in place of "he."

"His hands are well and truly tied. His commanders told him to take Logan in any way possible."

"Then why did they get Bobby and Jubilee, too?"

Xavier studied Scott's face. "He said it was because he didn't want to leave to children unconscious in the middle of nowhere especially knowing they're mutants."

"Bull," said Scott, his face red. "He knows how we operate. We'd never leave a kid behind."

"The point is moot in this situation. SHIELD has them now and apparently they simply cannot be released for security reasons."

"According to Fury," Scott added.

Xavier didn't comment. "He assured me, however, that he will make sure that the children will not be held in cells."

Scott waited, arms crossed, for the other shoe to drop.

"He will log them in as second-year SHIELD recruits."

"Perfect." Scott fairly oozed ice. "SHIELD bureaucracy is like crack; once you're in, you can't get out."

Xavier steepled his fingers. "It is not the best situation but it gives us some assurance that Bobby and Jubilee are safe. But that is not the only favour Fury has given us."

"He's just a cornucopia of helpfulness."

"He has also insinuated that he will give us a window in which to retrieve Bobby and Jubilee." He tapped out coordinates on the computer. The three-dimensional interface map rippled several times before settling into a topographical map of South America. "There will be manoeuvres in the Ecuadorian jungle in three months' time. Fury has given us the location, the number of people involved, and the activities."

"Because Fury's been so up front with us so far," Scott said as he drew closer to study the map. "And three months? That's an eternity in SHIELD."

With a small sigh, Xavier asked, "What would you prefer I do, Scott?"

He looked up, surprised at the professor's weary tone. "I just don't want to jump in there on someone else's information. We should gather our own data to be on the safe side, so we're not taken by surprise."

"You cannot plan for everything that might go wrong in a mission," said Xavier lightly. "There is no such thing as an infinite number of contingency plans."

"I've got a student working on a computer program," Scott retorted.

"I hope you're joking." Xavier provided a small smile with his comment which Scott returned fondly. "I will leave you to brief the others on this. More importantly, I would like to speak to you about your brothers."

Wincing, Scott said, "I'm sorry about the fight. I understand that I'm supposed to set an example for the students but I let my temper get away."

"It seems to be a reflex. The last time Alex visited, Jean told me there were a total of seven stitches, twenty-three contusions, two broken fingers, and a very bad reaction to poison ivy." He manoeuvred his wheelchair back from the desk to Scott's side. "I hope Remy knows that we're doing everything we can to find more information on Adam."

"The problem with Remy," said Scott, "is that he's always contradicted everything I say. Always. Ever since we were little kids. If I say the sky's blue, he'll tell everyone it's actually green with orange polka-dots and I'm being a boring dork for choosing a colour as out of style as blue. It's gotten to the point where he doesn't only contradict me; he thinks everything I say is a lie."

"Well, you will have to dissuade him of that idea," said Xavier. "Meantime, why don't you put a team together and look over the area. I will ensure that your classes have substitutes."

Scott nodded and marched back to his office, bracing himself for the inevitable brawl that would occur once he ran into Remy and Alex again. Since when did Alex top him by three inches and fifty pounds anyway? Golfing didn't require musculature like that unless Alex started an extreme version.

Actually that was plausible.

Before he reached Hank's office, Scott intervened in a stable-duty dispute, rescued a painting from a second job as a dart board, and prevented a kitchen revolt (Mrs. Rasputin considered microwavable anything poisonous). Ororo waylaid him as well, citing missed staff meetings and a second signature on a stack of official documents. Not for the last time, Scott wished his mutation could have something to do with cloning himself.

Scott found Warren in Hank's office, scribbling on a legal pad but no sign of Hank. He looked up and said, "Hank won't be able to come because he has a tele-conference about the collar's interface after classes but he says if you need his help, it'll be alright. 'Ro wanted to see you about some signatures--"

"Got it," said Scott.

"Not these ones." Warren chucked a manila envelope at him. "Those are about legal guardianship of a few more students. SHIELD info-- such as it is-- in this blue folder. Want the good news or the bad news first?"

"Always save the best for last."

"The good news is that as SHIELD trainees, your kids are going to be virtually untouchable by any government agency that might want to kill them."

"That's always a relief." Scott slipped a finger in the first manila envelope and flipped through the titles on the papers. "Nice of them to add that clause when they're tossing kids in the middle of foreign warzones."

"The bad news is that they make Lensherr's training seem like a beach party." At Scott's raised brows, Warren winced. "I forgot. You came in after he left. Your training schedules are so similar though."

"I think I've just been insulted."

"Let's put it this way, buddy. If I wanted an elite paramilitary troop made out of a half-dozen burger-flippers, you'd be the second person I'd look to."

"Who's the first?"

"Fury."

"Now I'm really depressed." Scott tapped a bright yellow folder. "What's this one?"

Shifting a little in his seat, Warren said, "It came from Four Winds Hospital this morning. A few of Jean's papers. They made photocopies for the rest of the people in the lab but they thought you'd like to have the originals."

Scott's breathing slowed. He pressed his hand flat against the folder, feeling the outline of a few CD-ROMs between the sheets of paper. Snippets of memories rushed him. Jean's speedy, yet awkward clacking on her laptop. The smell of coffee, hospital soap, and the incense sticks she used for telepathic meditation exercises. Her scrubs cracking the first time after her residency that she met him for lunch. Roasted garlic over toast; her favourite snack.

"Hey." Warren leaned forward on the desk, trying to look Scott in the eye.

"I'm fine," said Scott, forcing his fingers to bend. "I'll take these upstairs. After we, um, have a meeting with... _about_ the SHIELD retrieval." He squeezed his eyes shut, gathering his wits back from under that damned lake. "We might need your Hellfire connections. How's that going, by the way?"

Warren made a so-so gesture. "I'm in and I'm trusted but it takes a lot of payment to get into the upper echelons. The people in the inner circle have to be willing to sell their firstborn child if the Hellfire Club needed it. I think someone already has. I'll find a way though, don't worry."

Risk always followed a double-agent which was what Warren essentially was. Scott was glad that his friend could navigate the politics of high society so well; no other X-Man could. Squeezing anything from a bunch of bored, spoiled, society brats with as much self-entitlement as money took a different type of courage altogether. "Do you think they would have anything on SHIELD?"

"SHIELD still needs money, doesn't it? Besides, mutants are in this year at the Hellfire." Warren ruffled his feathers. "My mutation is especially tantalising."

"I'm not sure I want to ask."

"I'm positive I don't want to tell you unless we get so hammered, we buy another hamster."

Scott shuddered. "I could never face that much alcohol again. So, you've got information covered."

"Yessir." Warren gave him yet another folder. Folders never ran out at Xavier's; they multiplied like bunnies. Even the papers inside them multiplied logarithmically. This one told Scott more than he ever wanted to know about invasion of privacy and social care. "That's just in case you want to get any money for damages against the school."

"Can we do that?"

"Apparently, the chances of you actually suing the government directly is nil but in a round-about way, if Worthington Enterprises can hit a few key cash cows..." He lazily shrugged a shoulder.

Scott fought a grin. "Does the professor know you're using his economics primer for evil?"

"As long as it pays for the heating bill, he'll turn a blind eye."

Together, Scott and Warren poured over several folders of information, taking occasional bathroom breaks and half-hour grading sessions designed to help them think of nothing. Contrary to movie portrayal, missions did not coalesce after fifteen minutes of Enemy Defenses for Dummies. Mission-planning had more in common with planning a new class curriculum. It was tedious work and he appreciated Warren's help. His cynicism could point out a flaw at fifty paces. During the actual brainstorming session, when Scott thought aloud, Warren often interrupted with probing questions that revealed holes in his strategy. Most of the standard student retrieval scenarios in the Danger Room were a result of his and Warren's war-gaming sessions.

Five hours and a stack of mid-terms later, Warren threw in the towel. "Time to get something to eat."

Scott nodded, still staring at the last two diagrammatic versions of the SHIELD mission.

"That wasn't a suggestion," Warren said. "Go to the kitchen, Gamma Gaze. We can go back to planning after we've gotten some fuel."

"I just need to check--" Scott gagged as Warren caught his collar and yanked him to his feet.

"Get out of here. Eat something."

"Yes, Mom," said Scott, not unkindly.

"Someone's got to take care of you," Warren said. "No one else seems to."

That, Scott reflected, was the Warren Worthington III Patented Spoiled Brat tone. No one argued with it except for Jean. The professor sometimes manipulated it but could never overcome it. And despite his constant grumblings, Scott rather liked being ordered around. While too much dependency on anyone grated him, Warren's version was a nice change of pace. Scott hadn't realised, until he enrolled at Xavier's, how much of a relief it was to be looked after even for a few minutes

* * *

_Hello readers that are still around. I just wanted to thank you all for your still reading. I know some of you have spread the word as well (LithiumAddict, katjen, mortongirl, and Lucia among others) and I really apprecaite that. I just wanted to give you all a heads up about Part III and IV. Because it's all about the threads starting to come together as well as real-life school & work, the chapters might be coming in a little slower. To the Scott fans: he will be kicking lots of butt soon. To the Remy fans: He will be nekkid ::cough:: I mean, thieving soon. _

_If you really can't stand it any more, I sometimes post excerpts and deleted scenes in my LJ-- http://xenokattz . livejournal . com. (just erase the spaces). Hopefully that can tide you over. Cheers!_

_Katt_


	31. Past Interlude 11, San Diego, CA 1995

**Past Interlude #11: San Diego, California - 1995**

* * *

The difficulty with Remy and grades was that he always managed to pass by the seat of his pants. He never studied; Scott always checked his backpack for textbooks or homework. Heck, he would have been happy with a lunch stub. With his ability to charm circles around students and staff, Remy managed to spend half the year skipping school with only a handful of detentions to show for it. 

His wily little brother had met his match with third period Trigonometry, however. Austere and brilliant beyond necessity for high school pedegogy, Ms. Rai could not-- or would not-- be charmed. Thanks to her, Remy's intricate web of half-truths had dissolved. If he didn't pass Trigonometry, European History, and English by the end of the semester, he'd be held back a grade.

God help them when Dad found out.

After making sure that his pencil was as sharp as he could make it, Scott poked Remy's arm.

"Ow!" Remy balefully glared at the point of contact. The tip of the pencil vibrated, went pink, and exploded with a tiny pop of fire. "What did you do that for?"

"Pay attention," said Scott.

"I was."

"Oh yeah? So tell me, how do you find the side lengths for a right triangle using trig functions?"

Remy blinked. "Uh. Three relationships right?" He twirled a couple of pens between his fingers, concentrating on balancing his chair on one leg. "Um, hetero, homo, and threesomes? Ow! Stop fucking _poking_ me with your fucking pencil!"

"If you'd listen, I'd stop poking you," Scott snarled back, "or did you really want to have Rai a second time around?"

"No."

"Then pay attention."

Shuddering dramatically, Remy twisted to face the dining room table and the mathematical mess therein. "I'd pay attention if it was useful," he said sulkily.

"Trig is useful," said Scott.

"Yeah. I mean useful for people who don't get off by rubbing calculators on their zippers."

Scott threw him his best withering glare which was strong enough to actually kill houseplants. Remy and Alex tried it once on an aloe. The poor thing shrivelled like a slug in a microwave.

"Fine. Trig. Useful."

"It is." Quickly sketching a diagram on a scrap leaf of paper, Scott said, "Okay, you're into that building climbing thing, right?"

"Parkour," Remy corrected.

"Whatever. Say you want to climb the clock tower in city hall under a certain amount of time."

"Like a bet?"

"Sure." The sketch expanded to include a stick-figure Remy and an object that might have been a clock tower to a senile octogenarian with severe myopia and acute scoliosis. "Okay, so you know that you can climb ten feet in five minutes but you don't know how high the clock tower is. Say you know that you're twenty feet from the building and you're looking up at an angle of 75 degrees to the top then all you have to do is this." He tapped out the equation on the calculator.

Thoughtfully, Remy studied the picture, tapping his pencil on the plastic-covered table. "How did I know the angle that I was looking at?"

"You snitched it a tool from a surveyor on the way there," answered Scott deftly.

"So I knew enough to steal an angle measurer but not enough to just go in and ask about the height from someone who works in the building?"

Scott threw his hands up. "It was an example!"

"It was a really stupid one," said Remy with a grin. "I wouldn't go into teaching if I were you."

"Thank you very much. As a prize, _you_ can be the one who tells Dad that you're going to drop back a grade." Scott shoved the books on his side of the table. "Have fun."

"No, c'mon, I was kidding." Remy shoved the books back. "I'm listening."

"No, you're not and I'm wasting my own study time." The books went sliding back.

"I am! I am! Help me already." By now, lined paper was everywhere.

Scott leaned back, gauging Remy's sincerity. "Okay. Sine, cosine, and tangent."

"Harry, Larry, and Moe," Remy recited as earnest as a choirboy.

Despite himself, Scott grinned. The paper ball he threw flew in a perfect cosine curve before hitting the top of Remy's head.


	32. The One That Stayed

**The One That Stayed**

* * *

Remy received a new cell phone from New Orleans with ten thousand pre-paid minutes. When he ran out or after three weeks, whichever came first, he threw the phone into a dumpster. They must have some sort of tracking device on it because he'd never been able to recover a phone once he dumped it. He tried, out of curiosity, to trace one of his phones. He got assigned to an accounting gig for a month. 

Most of the time it was great. One call to base and he had access to every Guild in the world, completely free of charge. Well, free in terms of money. Remy had a feeling he was going to have to steal the freakin' Pieta to cover the number of favours he was pulling.

At the moment, he was wrangling a deal with a lady named Spat from the New York territory, a fellow Left. As high-ranking thieves and cons, Lefts were so much better to deal with than Rights, who managed money laundering. Rights had a tendency to look at the bank account before everything else, curtailing their creative part of larceny.

"You're asking me to peep into the vacuum brigade for, what? A couple lousy pieces of Venetian glass?" Spat scoffed. "I thought Gambit was supposed to be a high roller."

"High rolling doesn't equal stupidity," said Remy, automatically translating the code that made up Guild jargon. Venetian glass were coloured diamonds liberated from personal collections of the rich and ugly. Loose diamonds were called shards and those found in jewellery shops, just plain glass. Anything to do with a vacuum cleaner meant the FBI in reference to the J. Edgar Hoover building. "Glass is always good but things in the vacuum can end up being worthless."

"Glass I can buy around the corner."

"Not this kind." Remy licked his lips. "You checked your pad yet?"

Spat's palmtop beeped faintly in the background. He knew the minute she saw the specs on the diamonds. "Holy, ever-lovin', dick-chomping shit on a stick!"

Remy grinned. "Pretty, ain't it?"

"You're so shitting me. There's no way your scribble can grab this."

"I already have etchings in my room."

"Etchings, huh? I'll believe it when I see it," said Spat. "This'll take two people to shine. You got a partner?"

"Now if I tell you that, you won't be impressed," Remy said blithely. "So how about hooking me up with Ms. Manners, hein? We can six-two-two on the glass."

"Make it six-three-one and I'll guarantee it."

"In your dreams, Snugglepuss. I'm not deviating from the standard unless I see dirt from the vacuum."

"The vacuum's been real messy lately," Spat confessed reluctantly. "You know how it's like these days. They're all jumping at dust mites. If you can pass a cake, that might ease things a bit with Ms. Manners."

"Cakes I can bake. Just get me those dust bunnies," Remy said, already scanning his mental filing cabinet for an appropriate gift for the NYC Guildmaster. All the New England Guildmasters were called Ms. Manners by the rest of the world. Each territory had their own names for their Guildmasters, of course, but having a common name confused things a lot better for outsiders.

"All right," Spat finally said, "Let's do lunch at Starbucks."

Remy quickly checked his palmtop. Lunch at Starbucks meant nine at night at the safehouse in Manhattan. "I can do that. Just call me when you're ready."

Damn, now he had to find an offering. Guilds gave great pay-offs but sometimes the traditions drove him out of his mind. The offering would have to be representative not only of his skills but his promise not to interfere with territory business all tied up in verbal promises reaching up to the third generation. All these ties made Remy's throat clutch. As soon as he had Master status, he was giving over his tithe and going freelance.

Puttering around in the garage always helped him think. Remy got right back to his Ducati; the poor thing hadn't had a tune-up since he drove up to New York from New Orleans. He really needed the break after the whole mess that morning with Rogue in the closet and brawling with Scott and Alex. To think he almost broke a thousand-dollar antique with Alex's face.

He'd barely revealed the transmission for cleaning when Cyclops swung around the garage door. "Briefing in the meeting room in ten minutes," he said curtly.

Responding instinctively to his command, Remy straightened from his crouch and followed Cyclops' clipping pace back into the house. "Word on Adam?"

"Bobby and Jubilee, actually, in Ecuador. We pulled some strings with SHIELD and--" Cyclops paused, realizing his brother was no longer at his side. "What?"

"You musta pulled a right bargeload o' strings to get SHIELD hoppin' to your tune like that," said Remy.

"Great, the drunken drawl is back." Cyclops crossed his arms, unknowingly mirroring Remy's pose. "I don't have time for this. Are you coming or not?"

"Well, now I ain't sure I mentioned a smidge of trouble I got into last time I visited Ecuador. Something 'bout a brick or three of Incan hieroglyphics. Besides, I got me a sweet li'l bit of sugar in designer jeans a little later on tonight."

With a sigh, Cyclops said, "It figures. Fine. Stay here. Sleep your way through Manhattan. Have a great time."

"You know it."

As soon as Cyclops disappeared around the corner, Remy snarled at his bike. Picking up a rusted lugnut, he charged it as quickly as he could, feeling a pins-and-needles sensation behind his eyes and forehead as he did so. Then he tossed the nut as far into the lawn as he could. A branch snapped off a bordering evergreen as Remy's impromptu bomb exploded at the edge marking the wild pasture.

"Can't find the seven-eighths wrench?"

Remy spun around slowly upon hearing Rogue's voice. An idea caught hold of his head. "Couldn't find you, Stripes. We're going to have our first lesson."

"What, now?"

"Why not? You got your running shoes and your exercise gear on. Let's go."

Rogue pulled at her yoga pants. "But the Danger Room--"

"Forget the Danger Room. We're going to be doing some real life practice." He held a helmet out. "You ever ride one of these?"

"Sorta," Rogue replied, taking the helmet as she tentatively approached the motorcycle.

"That like being a little bit buzzed." Remy winked. "Come on. Put that on, hop on up, and hold on, Sugarplum. We're going to Manhattan."

* * *

For the lack of anything else to do, Alex holed up with Hank McCoy in the medlab. Despite his brave words to Scott earlier that day, he didn't have enough money to get back to California. Milbury had given him a plane ticket and a firm warning to stay away from government types in bad suits and mafia types in good suits. Helping Hank screw around with his weird collar was fun anyway. 

"Hold this, if you please, Alex." Hank placed a small syringe in his hand. Viscous pink liquid sloshed in its tube.

"It's pretty thick," said Alex. "Maybe it's a lubricant for the organic material."

"A distinct possibility," said Hank. "The solution bag is attached to the chip boards by connective tissue and the wiring seems to be grown nerve cells which would require submersion in an electrolytic solution to function. Ingenious, by the way. I still see a few metallic components but I can't be certain until I dismantle it completely. I am loathe to do so before we test what this contraption is."

"I thought you said it was a just simple electrical circuit," Alex said.

Hank straightened, fixing his glasses. "Yes, it is but with a few more fuss and furbelows around it. See these two pads?"

Obediently, Alex came over to examine them. No larger than his thumb they protruded from the collar on a length of covered wire an inch long. Behind the collar, the wires continued into the pink solution, its plastic cover melting into the solution bag with only a ring of reinforcement breaking the smoothness.

"Okay," said Alex, his forehead wrinkling. "If that's an electrical circuit, where's the battery?"

"This right here." Hank prodded a black tube swimming in the liquid.

"Okay, so that means those two prongs are there to complete the circuit."

"Exactly. However, even taking into account the possibility that these people are truly amoral, there are much simpler ways to electrocute someone."

His own research momentarily forgotten, Alex pulled up a stool. "What about the placement of the pads?"

"That would depend on the position in which one wears the collar," said Hank. Carefully, he snapped the two sides of the collar back together and placed it loosely around his neck. "If the buttons go in the back, the pads will go just under the mandible, likely affection the facial nerves. Unless we are speaking of a dentist more sadistic than that paranoid ex-Nazi in _Marathon Man_, this makes the collar inherently useless."

"And if the buttons are in the front?"

"Then it will send the shock at the third cervical vertebra--"

"Ouch"

"-- into the brachial plexus definitely, the whole of the spine with enough energy. So again, this is essentially an overly complicated albeit very portable way of giving someone an electric shock." Then Hank sighed. "Of course, there's no way to test it."

Alex tapped his finger on the table. "Why don't you test it on me?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Test it on me," said Alex. "I've got nothing better to do and I haven't toked up in a while. Kidding," he quickly added when Hank's eyes narrowed. "Really, Hank, it'll be a change of pace. I've volunteered as a lab rat plenty of times in school. Just zap it on for one minute, record reactions, let me record mine and we're done."

"And this is only a hypothesis.," said Hank. "I'm really not comfortable testing it on a live subject until we run a few more tests on the voltages generated at any given time."

"I'm not afraid of a little electrical tickle," Alex said. "And I've played enough football to callus my brain so you don't have to worry about that. Are the batteries juiced?"

"Yes, I checked that as soon as I discovered their..." The doctor shook his head. "Scott would not approve."

"Scott is busy with school, Adam, Bobby, and Jubilee," Alex retorted swiftly. "Really, Hank, where else are you going to find a reference male to test this on?"

He could tell that Hank was quivering with curiosity. The doctor stroked the top of the collar like a beloved pet. Alex unleashed his final weapon.

He smiled.

"Very well," said Hank, almost hiding his glee. "After you sign a contract absolving me of all fault should you experience any adverse affects with an addendum preventing Scott from tap-dancing on my spleen."

Alex snorted. "Are you kidding me? Scott'll probably break out the champagne." Seeing Hank's discomfort, he added, "It's okay, I'm used to it. It'll be weirder if he started sobbing over my supine body or something."

"Surely, you exaggerate," said Hank as snapped on a fresh pair of gloves.

"Since I'm the only Summers who can actually take a beating, I don't mind." Alex lifted his chin to allow Hank to fit the collar around his neck.

Hank swabbed the back of Alex's neck with alcohol as well as the pads. The pads felt like two ice cubes. After Hank fixed them in place with some tape, Alex barely felt it at all. "So, which button do we want to play with?"

"Guinea pigs' choice," Hank said with a minute bow.

"Let's go with door number one, Bob." Releasing all the air in his lungs, Alex willed his body to relax in preparation for a shock.

Pressing the record button on his voice-recorder, Hank tapped on the first button. "You might feel a pinch when the collar is turned on," he warned.

The collar's two sides clicked open.

Alex peered down at the collar. "Well, that was anti-climactic."

After scribbling in his memo pad, Hank asked, "Shall we proceed to door number two?"

"By all means." Less wary now, Alex was not at all prepared for the jolt of electricity that fired from his neck. His breath caught and his vision blurred.

"Are you okay?" he heard Hank say as the last of the buzz faded.

"Yeah," Alex bit out. "That's... a bit of a rush."

"To the last button then."

To their disappointment, the last button appeared to be a dud.

"There must be something I'm missing," Hank muttered. "All this innovation just to deliver a shock?"

"Some people like their gadgets," said Alex, retreating back behind the computer. "I'm sure there are some S&M fans out there who'd love to get a piece of this. Kind of like space age S&M. Trekkie S&M."

He heard Hank mumbling to himself as the computer kicked on. Hank cleared his throat. "You have a lot of training in a research lab," he said when Alex looked up.

"Yeah."

"Would you mind recording reactions while the collar is on me?"

Alex blinked. "Uh, why?"

"Call it a hunch."

He didn't know why he agreed. Call it his deep-set scientific curiosity. Alex's hands shook only slightly as he followed Hank's instructions. Hank's fur would undoubted skew the effect but he managed to clear a wide enough area of skin.

"Is it attached?" asked Hank.

"Yup."

He turned his voice recorder on. "All right, Alex. Press the third button."

"Dude, you are crazier than I am."

"So I've been told."

Crossing his fingers behind his back, Alex pressed the third button.

Hank's back stiffened. His mouth dropped open for air. Alex moved to press the button again but in his fit, Hank slapped him away rather harshly.

"Hey!" Alex yelped in reaction.

"Sorry," Hank gasped. "Whatever that was produced an epileptic fit, I think."

"But you're okay now?" asked Alex, still hovering warily.

"Other than a vague weakness, I'm fine," Hank answered cheerfully before his eyes rolled up and all three hundred pounds of him slumped to the floor.

* * *

Remy always thought riding on a motorcycle should be like glugging a two-four while riding a never-ending zipline wound around the world. Rogue's whoops coming through the helmet speakers told him that she felt the same. 

"You're gonna yell my ear off, Peaches," he told her.

"Well, if you'd stop popping wheelies, I might not have to," she retorted, the built-in microphone making her voice slightly tinny. "Hey, did you know that those lines on the road actually separate the lanes?"

"You don't say."

"Yup. They're not bike lanes after all."

"Imagine that bit of cleverness coming from a bunch of Yankees."

Opening the throttle a nudge more, he popped down on his front wheel. Rogue smacked against his back, her hands flailing for purchase. He laced her fingers through his belt loop; she needed a secure hold but couldn't quite lock her fingers together. He didn't usually do tricks the first time riding with someone but Rogue seemed like the kind of person who'd appreciate what a tricked out Ducati Monster could do.

The bike roared past Harlem then deep into Midtown where Broadway's neon, paints, and LCD faded in the sticky August sun. Drivers and pedestrians alike threw expletives at them as they whipped around an obstacle course of cars, fire hydrants, curbs, and an occasional hot dog stand only veer into the cooler climes of Central Park. Remy skidded the bike into a parking space that most people would mistake for a crack in the sidewalk. He prided himself in seeing diamonds in the rough.

"You drive like a nutball," Rogue accused him as soon as the helmet went off. But she was smiling as she did it.

He took her helmet and locked it with his under the seat compartment. "One thing you gotta learn about parkour, Peaches: there ain't no such thing as boundaries. No such thing as walls, no such thing as barriers. No fences, gates, cliffs, alleys, paint lines, strings, ropes, or anything else that keeps you from where you want to be. And if anyone ever tells you any different, you know what you gotta do?"

"Flip 'em off and keep going?" answered Rogue.

Beaming, Remy said, "You're gonna be a star, Peaches. A sweaty one though. Get ready to run."

They ran around Central Park. They ran through Central Park. They ran out of Central Park, up and down the surrounding streets, wounding through suits, leather vests, more suits, a flock of miniskirts, and an odoriferous basketball jersey. Then when they'd run through the entire Eastside, Remy led her right back into Central Park and ran some more.

She finally threw in the towel as they passed by the cool shadows of Belvedere Castle. Remy U-turned a second later and jogged back to where she leaned against the wall, chest heaving like bellows.

"Tired?"

"Ya think?" She bent over double, hoping air two feet from the ground would not be as humid and would, therefore, give her poor wrinkled lungs some relief. No such luck.

Remy slapped a hand between her damp shoulder blades. Rogue started but Remy kept his hand there for a few more seconds, letting her get used to his touch. "Walk it off, Sugarplum. You can have a sip after that."

She nodded. They walked into the castle gardens, sipping from insulated water bottles as they searched for a bench to commandeer.

"You know, there's a perfectly good track in the school," said Rogue.

"What fun is that?" asked Remy. "Besides, tracks make you all soft. You want to get running on different types of terrain for parkour."

"You still haven't explained what parkour is."

Again, Remy flashed his incorrigible smile. "Better I show you. Watch everything I do, Stripes. There's going to be a quiz later."

Being a Prime Left in the Guilds required a certain amount of cockiness but Remy would be the first one to admit that his one great failing as a Left was his love of the spotlight. He did best when he had an audience. Maybe it was because his pride was at stake. Hell, it just could be because he had a lot more of his mom in him than he cared to think about. The only time she was ever happy was when she was on stage; whether it had velvet curtains or a steel pole, it didn't matter to her.

Starting in a crouch, Remy sprang up to catch an oak branch seven feet from the ground. He swung up, jackknifed his legs and popped on top of the branch. From there, it was easy enough to hang from one branch to another, climbing higher and closer to the cloister walls with an alternating series of three-sixties, twists, and balancing tricks.

He went fancy on the switch from the tree to the wall: a vertical double twist on a cat leap. The wall knocked the air out of his lungs and his fingertips screamed at him but the chorus of "ooohs!" made it worthwhile. Remy frog-walked his feet up to the castle's curtain wall. Once he had a good sense of balance, he launched into half a dozen hand-flips, a couple hands-free ones, some cartwheels.

To dismount, he decided simplicity would be best. Again, crouching low to get as much power as possible in his legs, Remy leapt at a forty-five degree angle. The moment, his right foot took off, he knew it was going to be one of his highest jumps. He spread his arms wide, as though he were flying and at the climax of the jump, he arched down face first, his arms pointed over his head like a diver. He completed the flip at the last minute, landing on his legs then going into a shoulder roll immediately afterwards to take the force off his knees.

He got to his feet and bowed to Rogue who led the laughing and clapping audience. As the crowd came over to ask questions and give praise, he turned to her and said, "It's your turn, Peaches."

Rogue gaped. "What?"

He nodded at the wall. "You and me on that wall in two minutes."

"Don't I need ropes or harnesses or something?" She cuffed the ground. "A yoga mat at least to break my fall?"

Remy scoffed at the idea. "That stuff'll make you get sloppy. C'mon, Stripes. I won't let you fall, I promise." He held his hand out then, quickly realising the faux pas, turned the reach into a grab for her lightweight jogging shirt while he tugged at her white bangs with the other hand.

With a little more wheedling and a gelato bribe, Rogue soon faced the cloister's outer wall, a foot above ground by way of four very precarious outcroppings of stone. "If I fall, I'm suing for an automatic A."

"If you fall, you get a fail," said Remy. He placed a hand at the small of her back. "I'll be right behind you, Sugarplum. As soon as you get high enough, I'll start climbing, too."

She started off tentatively, sighting possible handholds before reaching for the wall. She had a good sense of technique: keeping her body close to the wall and choosing holds that would keep her centre of gravity controlled. As soon as Rogue's heels cleared three feet, Remy got on, making sure to cup his upper body around hers as a make-shift safety net. She stiffened just the tiniest bit, her shoulders bowing away from him even though she wore an elbow-length shirt.

"I'm gonna have to teach you to trust me a bit more," Remy said, half to himself. "What if we have to do another mission in close quarters?"

Grunting with exertion, it took Rogue a few seconds to reply. "What are you planning? A couple more broom closet incidents? Which, by the way, I hate you for. Do you know what it's like to get a sex-ed talk from Ms. Vardalos?"

"I was thinking dance lessons." At her puzzled expression, Remy elaborated, "Latin dancing. Parkour, salsa, a little aikido, practical securities-- I'm all about a well-rounded education."

Rogue laughed curtly. Or it might have been a snort.

They ascended slowly but steadily. A few times, Rogue swung her leg out instead of flagging it underneath her body, making her wobble a bit but Remy quickly corrected her when she looked like she was about to fall over. She caught onto that trick pretty quickly, too.

A foot from the top, Rogue came to a dead stop, pressing her face against the wall and breathing deeply. Her arms shivered with tension.

"Bet you're tired now, huh, Peaches?" Remy asked, a chuckle hidden in each syllable.

Rogue stiffened up her jaw. "You wish."

Grappling with the edge of the wall, Rogue found another foothold. Then a handhold three inches up. And another foothold. In another second, she was up and over the top, grinning to the sound of cheers. Remy swung up on a handstand beside her before collapsing down on his rear.

"You're a natural, Sugarplum."

Rogue grinned in all her teeth, swinging her legs on either side of her perch. The air wasn't as thick and hard to breathe up here. "Let's stay here a while before we go down."

Remy studied her face. Her cheeks were flushed from accomplishment and, if he looked a little closer, a touch of recklessness that was so necessary in his line of work. Christ, she was so... fresh. She reminded him of Saturday mornings, the ones where everyone crowded around the TV at the crack of dawn to watch cartoons and eat cereal out of the box or swimming in apple juice. With everyone either yelling at him or ordering him around, having Rogue looking up to him was real nice on the ego.

"Whenever you're ready, Stripes," he said, keeping the teasing smile on his face. "Last one down buys sloppy joes."


	33. Past Interlude 12, Everett, WA, 1993

**Past Interlude #12: Everett, Washington - 1993**

* * *

Only Alex ever talked about his mom. The rest of them never brought up the idea of moms in an implicit agreement not to create even more tension with a measuring contest. Remy already knew what kind of arguments could pop up-- whose mom was actually married to Dad, whose mom had been the mistress, and whose mom still called once in a blue moon; who was the prettiest, who was the nicest, who lasted the longest. He wanted nothing to do with those conversations. They were destined to end badly. 

Alex didn't seem to care though. He kept a picture of his mom on his nightstand angled away from Adam. Remy didn't know if he did that to save Adam's feelings or to hurt it. Remy studied it once. Katherine Summers was one of those All-American types with a waterfall of honey-blonde hair, a spray of freckles on a tanned face, and a wide, dimpled smile. She was even wearing a vaguely country-style shirt in the picture. She kind of made Remy's stomach roil. He never looked at the picture again.

Alex tended to drop his mom's into casual conversation, too. Months could pass without the forbidden word and smack in a middle of an escalating discussion (read: argument) about report cards, Alex would put "Mom" and "science project" in the same sentence. No one could have been more surprised if he'd jumped on the table in a thong and sung "Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend."

"Mom said she studied guppies in college, right, Scott?" Alex spoke around a mouthful of Hamburger Helper. Dad was between girlfriends and Scott had finals.

"Uh, I don't remember," Scott said diplomatically. "Anyone want more cheese?"

"I don't like white cheese," said Adam.

Remy reached across the table to stuff more Hamburger Helper on his plate so he wouldn't have to speak but Alex didn't get the hint.

"I can remember," he said. "We were watching something about whales and she said that she did an experiment where the male fish with the red nail polish on his stomach attracted more females than the one with the white nail polish. And then Dad said that was the worst argument for MTV ever."

"That was a really long time ago," Dad said, obviously discomfited. "I don't think I remember it either. Remy, how's chess club?"

"Fine," said Remy, declining to remind him that he'd quit the chess club after exactly one meeting. He still liked the game but hanging around with those losers was so boring.

"Can we get guppies?" asked Alex. "Everyone else is doing volcanoes or something stupid but I want to do Mom's experiment."

"Does my mom have a 'spermint?" asked Adam. "Daddy, can we call my mom for 'spermints?"

"Not right now, Adam." Dad sent Alex a glare. "Let's finish dinner and talk about the project later, okay?"

"I want to call my mommy about a 'spermint!" Adam insisted.

"Adam, hush about the stupid experiment," said Remy, seeing Dad's face flush and anxious to keep this from turning into a two-pack night. However, Adam, unused to Remy's sharp tone, pressed his trembling lips together and started to sob.

"Nice going," Scott hissed as he stood to take Adam to his room.

Remy flipped him the finger below the table's surface. "If Alex wouldn't shut up about the damned guppies."

"Don't use that language at the table," Dad ordered. "If no one wants to eat with some semblance on manners tonight, then everyone's going to bed early." He ignored all the protest, saying only, "I want the dishes cleared and arranged in seven minutes and God help you if you fight again."

"Nice going, asshole," Remy muttered as he and Alex gathered the dishes.

Alex smirked. "Well, Dad stopped talking about report cards, didn't he?"


	34. Water Poured Around Earth

**Water Poured Around Earth**

* * *

Having spent his weekly quota of medical emergencies, Alex roamed the halls in search for Scott. Whether his brother liked it or not, powers or not, he was going to help look for Adam and Alex was willing to go another round in the Danger Room for it. As he strolled to the main classrooms, he bumped into a rather hassled-looking Asian lady of indeterminate age, obviously a teacher. His first week in Hawai'i, Kim assured him that once Asians hit twenty-five, their facial features remained the same until they hit forty so please stop trying to flirt with his aunt. 

"Lemme help you with that," Alex said, taking half of the files under her arm. "Narda, right?"

"Thanks," she said, flashing a smile. "They told me I had to be a teacher-of-all trades because of the, uh, extra-curricular stuff but I didn't realise I would get so stressed-out about it."

"Subbing?"

"Waiting for the others to get back," Narda clarified. "I like everyone here. They're my buds. But it's like being married to a cop every time they put the uniforms on." She opened the third door down the classroom wing.

"I wouldn't worry too much," said Alex, grinning nonchalantly. "Scott's like Superman. Injuries bounce off him and hit other people. Usually his nearest and dearest."

Narda stared at him like he just confessed to chasing puppies with a flamethrower.

"What?" asked Alex, genuinely puzzled.

"Nothing, I just…" She adjusted her stance and tried again. "I'm not really sure if that was an appropriate joke, that's all." Stiffly she took the files from his hand and viciously concentrated on pretending to organize them. If hostility could injure, Alex was pretty sure he would be dying of blood loss by now.

"Wha-- huh? Time out, hon." He closed the door. "I get this feeling that I just stuck my foot knee-deep in my mouth and I didn't even know I was hungry."

Narda stared at him, her eyebrows wrinkled into a deep V. "I think I'm the one chewing on foot at the moment. Um, do you remember Jean Grey?"

"Mrs. Robinson, yeah." Alex's grin slipped. "Uh, did they break up or something?"

Narda glanced around for-- who knows, hidden mikes? Self-aware security tentacles? In this school, anything was possible. "Okay, I'm just going to tell you facts because I wasn't here when it happened." She paused, apparently bracing herself. "Jean Grey passed away a few months ago."

Alex's jaw dropped. He tried to say something, even something as clichéd as "What?" but his entire brain shut down. He'd met Jean Grey a handful of times, the last just after he decided to go to university after all. She'd been quietly encouraging, just sitting there, pouring him tea and listening so damn well and not really saying much. He'd wondered how her and Scott's kids were ever going to learn how to talk then reared back at the ease at which his mind created the image of Scott with a child.

Alex's knees went weak. "Holy shit. No wonder he's been so... but why didn't he just... damn, did Remy know?"

"I think he knows now."

That meant he hadn't known before. Remy must have flipped his lid. He was so strangely anal about things like that; Alex suspected exposure to mafia mentality combined with Remy's background before Dad adopted him resulted in a few fried circuits. Incidentally, this was also Alex's theory on why everything breathing fell for Remy lock, stock, and fruit-flavoured lube.

"Where's Remy right now?" he asked Narda.

She placed two fingers on her chin. "I think I saw him go out on his bike a couple hours ago."

A motorcycle. That meant that in Remy was off getting tail in order to comfort himself. Alex relaxed a little. Remy was easier to talk to after he found someone to jerk all his tension off.

"He's with Rogue again, one of the students," Narda continued. "Apparently, they've started a new training regime."

Alex tensed up again. He _wouldn't_.

"Which reminds me," said Narda, "I should tell Scott or Charles about that. I'm not sure Remy has permission to take students off-campus no matter what the training."

"Giving one of the boys a field trip?" Alex joked. Badly.

"Actually, Rogue's a girl."

Aw, fucksticks. Alex ran for Scott's office.

Scott didn't look up from the laptop which he and a young, dark-haired behemoth were consulting. "Did you need anything?" he asked Alex.

Leaning against the door, Alex said, "I wanted to ask you about one of your students actually. A girl named Rogue."

Scott tilted his chin at the door. The behemoth nodded, collected the laptop with a murmured, "I'll be with Mr. Worthington," and left.

"What about Rogue?" Scott asked as soon as the door clicked shut.

"Is she particularly pretty?" Alex asked in return. "Over the age of consent in this state? Heterosexual? Have any features that would induce Remy to be attracted to her such as breathing and proper hygiene?"

Scott's mouth flattened. "Are you trying to say that Remy's having sex with one of the students?"

"Scott, Remy would fuck a hole in the wall if it came in designer perfume. Hell, a rip-off of a designer perfume."

Rubbing his hands over his face, Scott let out a minute sigh. "Okay."

"You'll beat on him?" Alex suggested. "Maybe take him somewhere isolated for a few weeks and give him holy hell? And you'll both come back healthier, happier, and full of moral eptitude?"

"No," he said, much to Alex's disappointment. "I still haven't forgotten that you came in here guns blazing with an FBI file on Remy from God knows only where. I'll look into that situation. You concentrate on figuring out how to get back to Hawai'i so you can finish your degree and maybe learn that 'eptitude' isn't a real word."

This was not going well. Scott's usual reaction was righteous indignation, followed by resignation, and ending with at least a week's worth of bonding time with Remy after which heads of state no longer feared for their positions and dads could unlock their daughters' doors again. That was how the system worked. Alex started to gesticulate. "But Scott--"

"Alex, Rogue's power prevents her from touching anyone skin to skin. Remy knows that. He couldn't possibly be having sex with her because within five minutes, he'd be dead." Scott laced his hands together on his desk. "I'll look into it."

Alex couldn't believe it. "Okay, who are you and what have you done with the real Scott?"

"I have no idea what you mean."

"Y'know the Scott who swooped in all the time to kick Remy around when he was messing shit up? The only one who could actually get Remy to listen to him, explosive playing cards or no? The one who threatened to stuff a cigar up his ass and light with a flame thrower if he so much as said 'larceny' within hearing?"

Scott angled his head to one side. "Do you really care what happens to Rogue or are you picking a fight again?"

"I don't pick fights!"

Scott gave him a withering glare. Alex knew it was there even though the glasses hid his eyes. It was all in the eyebrows. Scott gave whole dissertations with his eyebrows.

"Okay, so maybe I _do_ pick fights but only the important ones."

"I have it all under control," said Scott.

"Bullshit," Alex shot back. "Adam's still missing, two of your kids got kidnapped by spies who live in an airship, and another one is kanoodling with Remy! Scott, for fuck's sake, can't you see he's just doing this to get your attention?"

"Yes," said Scott. "And I'm not going to make the mistake of over-reacting and causing an even bigger argument. I've done that too many times."

"But--"

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have, as you mentioned, two kids and a brother to look for." He pointed turned his face to his computer.

Alex's shoulders tensed up with disbelief. It was official. Aliens had taken over Scott's body.

* * *

Okay, really? The whole waking-up-groggy then drugging-back-to-coma thing was getting so old so fast. For once, Adam would really freakin' appreciate going to sleep because he was tired instead of getting pumped up with whatever tranq these guys kept shooting into him. If he ever got out of here, he was going to be seriously addicted to drugs by default. 

Adam paused.

_When_ he got out, not _if_ he got out.

Jesus, he was getting fuckin' morbid, wasn't he?

Part of it, he knew, was losing track of time. He had no idea how long he'd been missing. Sometimes, it felt like at least half a year but he really couldn't accept that. If he'd been gone for more than a month, surely one of his brothers would have picked up on it, right? So Adam preferred to think that he'd only been gone for three and a half weeks. Anything longer than that and it wasn't just that he was hard to find; they were also not trying that hard. Adam refused to believe the latter because if he did, he'd start bawling like a baby and God knew he had enough points against him in this place.

He heard a few people shuffle in and out with the guards, some with more resistance than the others. Scalphunter snored really loudly and there was someone about ten yards away who got up to pee every fifteen minutes. Everyone farted. No one ate. Or at least, no one chewed food. A few times after waking up, Adam's stomach felt full and his throat, raw. So much for no more tubes but at least they weren't permanently attached.

Gav-7 interested Adam the most and not just because of that weird conversation about rainy weather. He was so zen, like a kung fu master. He didn't seem to be afraid of anything but neither was he one of those idiots who looked for fights. Scalphunter said Gav-7 was weird even by vat-rat standards.

Adam was learning a lot of slang up here, too. He was an outsider because he'd been kidnapped and taken to the labs unlike Gav-7, who was a vat-rat. He was honest to freakin' God born in a laboratory and lived his whole life like this. The guards were called sticks because they loved to stick needles in people-- tranquilizer darts, hypodermic needles, and the occasional bullet if some of Scalphunter's wilder tales were to be believed.

The training room was called the box, the pens, or the acid trip, depending on the speaker's feelings about it. In the six sleeps that passed since he came to the third floor, he had yet to see the pens again. The weird thing was, Adam wasn't sure if he was relieved or insulted. Yeah, the fighting hurt but it was also kind of like being picked last for basketball. Scalphunter went out four times. Gav-7 had gone out twice that he knew of. No one brought up the weather, rainy or not.

Worst than that, it was really freakin' boring being in his room all day conscious. No TV, no radio, nothing to read or draw with and, if Gav wasn't around, no one to talk to. Adam took to tricking out cars or reciting more Shakespeare in his head to keep himself from going absolutely nuts, murmuring aloud for the sake of hearing someone else's voice.

Adam was almost finished tricking out a Volkswagen Jetta when the sticks came for him again. The invisible doors hushed open just as he was replacing the coil covers. Adam stiffened in bed.

"I won't struggle," he said, trying to get in touch with his inner-Scott. He sat up slowly, putting his hands up.

The guards didn't speak-- they never did to conscious prisoners-- but they didn't zap him with a tranq either. Adam heard his collar whir-click; moments later, a wave of nausea came over him. His arms dropped right into the guards' waiting hands.

The walk out his cell was a drunken joke. No lights other than the usual blinky reds and greens which danced around in tight spirals. He wondered how the guards found their way around. Maybe that was why they wore goggles, for night vision.

A few things swished opened and closed, a huge something blared blue-green light all over the place, and finally something buzzed like an ant-sized engine revving. Then Adam's body snapped back under control and he found himself shuffling along the four-way line-up for the pens.

He blinked the fuzz from his eyes. Stupid drugs. He hated all this missing time. It made him feel messy, like an Alex-made tornado ripped through time, dropping timeframes willy-nilly on the floor. The guards who held him had disappeared although there were several pacing the floor, just like last time. Other grey-clad prisoners shuffled along like last time. Four pairs of prisoners fought in four holodecks, also just like last stime.

The acrid scent of ammonia hit Adam's nose. He grimaced. The person in front of him had wet himself.

"Don't worry," he said. "You only have to destroy your opponent."

The other prisoner stared up at him in shock. His wet spot grew wider.

Adam tried again. "Uh. Yeah. Go with the Force?"

His collar whirred and before Adam could get an "oh crap" out, his brain smacked around inside his skull again. He really hated those collars, slightly less than the ass-tubes but more than the test-tubes. When he came too, the guy in front of him had graduated from pissing his pants to full on whimpering. Adam felt like smiling. He was officially not the biggest loser in this place. That would be a nice position to hold on to especially seeing as how Scott and the others were taking their sweet time finding him. Maybe if he could hotwire a car in three seconds, he'd be worth looking for. Or maybe if his mutation kicked in a little earlier. Or maybe if he just agreed to slavishly worship Alex, they'd be willing to put a little more effort into a search. But nooo, he was Adam the Drama Queen and it wasn't like his running away meant anything except for a little extra attention.

By the time he stepped into his pen, which looked like a typical seedy backalley, Adam was in a fine froth of resentment. If anyone actually gave a shit about him, he'd be out of here by now. If anyone bothered to fucking visit home once in a while, they'd notice he was gone.

Adam finally realised why Alex took such joy in pounding the ever-loving crap out of a punching bag three times a day. When his opponent came around, he didn't see a fellow prisoner so much as a stand-in for his brothers. That the other prisoner was a female made no difference. Adam wanted to feel something crunch under his fist.

Swooping down from a fire escape, a positively inhuman woman with muscles the size of Rhode Island thumped on the ground. Growling as she fell, she swung her arms together. Adam jumped away, expecting her two massive hands to smack against his ears. Instead, a quiet crack and a rush of force not unlike a six-foot wave threw him off his feet. Adam curled his body into a ball, spotting the ground and reaching a hand out to balance himself before he went into a shoulder roll. It was messy but he was conscious and, really, that was a good thing considering the last time he was in here.

Steroid Woman strode forward, intensity in every elephant step. Scrambling backwards, Adam tried his damnedest to remember how he brought that other guy down--Teke-2 or Bruno. Whoever. The one who groped his crotch and really deserved to get his arm burned off was just like this chick who looked like she wanted to roast him over an open fire after she slapped his head off sucked the marrow out of his bones for flavour and really "bone" and "suck" did not sound awesome in this context.

Adam felt a burn start behind his eyes. The same burn that happened back with Bruno/Teke-2. Satisfaction rushed up his spine. He had a chance.

Setting his attention on Steroid Woman, Adam waited for something to happen. Preferably screaming and squirming on the ground as skin blistered.

Nothing.

Panic set in once again. Steroid Woman was getting closer, her arms bent a shoulder's width apart. She was going to do that air-cracking this soon and, with a wall a scant three feet behind him, he wasn't going to be able to make that same dodge.

Come on, brain, come on. Kick in. Think of yourself as a car with a faulty transmission. Something kicks back then makes the gears catch on each other. What was it?

As he crouched backward, Adam's hand caught on something sharp. He hissed, drawing his arm up. There was a bead of red on his palm, caused by broken bottles.

In his head, Adam saw Bruno/Teke-2 biting his arm until his teeth went through skin. He remembered a flare of heat behind his eyes. And then he remembered Bruno/Teke-2's wound blistering before the rest of his arm, going bright red as the rest went pink then curling black as the rest went red.

His hand closed in on a bottle neck.

This time when Steroid Woman clapped her hands, Adam dove forward. He held the broken bottle out as he came out of the roll. There was a sickening resistance as the ends of the bottle caught cloth then slashed through skin. It felt like hacking through old leather upholstry in the theatre backstage. Adam swallowed the bile threatening to wimp out his great offence.

Instead he turned around and concentrated on that burning behind his eyes. Burn, burn, burn, burn, burn!

Steroid Woman's face crumpled as she clutched her thigh. Adam almost smiled when he smelled cooking meat. "Toasted like Wheat Thins, bitch."

"Wait!" said Steroid Woman. She held her free hand palm out. "Is it rainy out?"

Adam was nonplussed. "What?"

"The weather," Steroid Woman repeated tightly. "Is it rainy outside?"

The conversation with Gav-7 popped into his head. "Uh, yeah. I hope it'll stop soon."

Steroid Woman's expression cleared slightly. "That's okay. I really like umbrellas anyway."

Adam grinned. Something important had happened here. Something that, if he tapped into his inner optimist, he was sure meant good things. Good things like finding people who weren't freaky like Scalphunter or insane like Bruno/Teke-2. It might even mean freedom.

She shyly returned the grin. And then she pounded his face into the dirt.

* * *

_Thus ends Part II. Fortunately, Part III is chugging along a wee bit faster than I thought. to date (14 Dec) I only have a chapter and a half left of the first draft. it'll go through the usual wringer with Mortongirl and come out smelling fresher than a daisy. A word of warning however: the language gets stronger as we go further and the future nudity/sexual situations warning apply in Part III. Like whoa._

_ Merry Christmas/Chanukah/Diwali/Insert Holiday Here to everyone and thanks so much to all the readers so far: Alwaysright1, A.M.bookwrm24,, amy, Anamarie Chambers, BJ2, brattax23, Caliente, D Benway, Faith, Felicia Barnett, Florinoir, inimicallyyours,Jean1, ladysarai, LithiumAddict, katjen, KariHermione, Katta, kcjadesolo, Madripoor Rose, Minisinoo (squee!) Nettlez, NeverMagpie, NMCL, Peanutbutter1, Prexistence, Rogue-soul, RuByMoOn17, sionnain, UraniaChang, vinh, whiteninjetti. You guys rock so much for hanging around this long._

_Thanks again!_


	35. PART III, OCTOBER: Present Interlude 5

**PART III - Early October**

** Present Interlude #5**

* * *

Destroying a batch of specimens never failed to sadden Essex. Each tube flushed represented a broken line in his personal cladogram and, worse, an avenue of knowledge that might not exist past the theoretical. He so hated to remain in the theoretical. Thus it was with a weary sigh that he typed in the command to destroy Sector-70021. There simply wasn't enough to fund such an economically unviable experiment. 

However, should short-sighted mercenary watchdogs such as SHIELD continued to attack his clients' armies, he might someday afford to double his facilities. Until they intruded, his clients' purchases were far between. With a two percent mortality and a ninety-one percent success rates, they rarely needed to be replaced. His clients were even pleased with how they held up against SHIELD agents, an understandable but predictable enthusiasm.

He would have to find some way of increasing the products' imperviousness, however, a rather menial task. Perhaps he would delegate it. Petty distractions such as money should not detract him from his vocation.

* * *

_Hello readers! Thanks so much for waiting. I just wanted to give you all a heads up concerning the next half of this story. Parts III and IV are the reason why I give this story M(Mature). There is EVER so much more violence and sexual situations here. Yeah. So, hopefully it's not that gratuitous; if it is, hopefully it's written well enough that you all don't mind. ;)_,/P 

_Cheers!_


	36. Dealing

**19 - Dealing**

* * *

Sunshine, orange and sticky, failed to relieve the mid-term's frenzy. Scott's heavy, pine door swung open and shut like the entrance to a corner store, admitting teachers and students alike and that was just the past week. For the past three months, Scott, Warren and Xavier put their heads together to plan the retrieval in Ecuador. With the other hand, they played an intricate dance of blackmail with SHIELD. He'd been able to use Bobby and Jubilee's situation to dig up more information on the Kelsey mine and all its affiliated companies. SHIELD countered this manoeuvre by giving them bits and pieces of potentially useful information, but nothing truly substantial. 

With the third hand, they reopened the school. The larger student population was a cake-walk compared to everything that had happened since spring but the increased population pressured Scott to delegate, not his favourite option. Because Kelly had been teaching for a longer time, he charged her with training Narda and David to free up his time for administrative work. Hank headed the medlab on top of his classes and his personal research while Warren worked on academic details like the upcoming Hallowe'en party and the (dear God already?) Christmas one a bit further off. Alex had insisted on following a lead on Adam from his supposed FBI file; most days he was online down in the medlab or in the public library. Remy was, thankfully, training Rogue and therefore out of his hair. Scott didn't really think anything of the situation until Narda brought the subject up.

"How is the self-defence training set-up again?" she asked Scott as she dropped off a few more files. Scott was drowning in files.

"The lessons are three times a week covering a series of martial arts, usually judo and a few offensive moves that best utilises their power."

"Uh-huh." Narda chewed on her pencil. "Is there usually one-on-one mentoring?"

"Not for general classes but the X-Men training can if there's a compatible teacher." He crossed out one activity that proved to be a bust; there really was no exciting way to teach the quadratic formula. "Why do you ask?"

"Remy's been taking Rogue out a lot the past few weeks. I just wanted to make sure that was allowed."

Ororo also commented on the subject just after dinner at the teacher's lounge. "I'm going to say something that might offend you. If it's out of line, please let me know but I really can't keep quiet about it any longer."

Bewilderment pleated Scott's forehead lightly. He put a binder of CIA information down-- he'd never make fun of Area 51 again-- to listen. "Go ahead and tell me."

Ororo took some strengthening breaths. "I'm not comfortable with Remy being around Rogue all the time."

"All the time?" The wrinkles in his brow deepened. He pushed away from the table. "What do you mean, all the time?"

"They're attached at the hip," said Ororo. "The kids call them Rogue'n'Remy. If he was a little closer to her age, I wouldn't worry so much but he's twenty-seven--"

"Twenty-eight," Scott corrected. Remy's birthday was in August. The first edition "Alice in Wonderland" he'd picked out as a present had been sent to New Orleans as per his schedule but with everything going on, they hadn't had time to actually go out to celebrate. Scott mentally made a note to do something family-like after the Ecuador mission to keep Remy from more sulking.

"--and she's in a highly vulnerable state with Bobby and Logan gone," Ororo continued. She took a calming sip of tea. "He is your brother of course and you would have a better grasp of his personality. I cannot help but worry however, in light of his cavalier attitude towards dating in the past few months that he has been here."

At first, he couldn't quite understand where Ororo was going with this. When it finally hit him, Scott was hard-pressed not to gag. "You think he might... Rogue? _Remy_?"

Ororo spoke slowly, her words obviously picked with care. "I think he is very charming and Rogue, very young. He may not realise that his flirting could be interpreted more seriously than he intended."

Assuring Ororo that Remy's flirting was completely harmless, that Remy would definitely _not_ take advantage and promising that he'd have a talk with him, Scott promptly forgot about it. More information about Adam had come in just as he and Warren returned from retrieving a new student.

Warren peered over his shoulder as he slipped out of his Kevlar. "What's that?"

"SHIELD information about Adam," said Scott. "I was going to run a variable on the Ecuador mission in the Danger Room but I have to look at this before I go to bed. It's a follow-up on the connection between Alex's bomber and the silver van that'd been following Adam back in June. "

"I'll run the Ecuador variable," said Warren, scooping the file up and scanning the newest notes, done in blue.

Scott's forehead wrinkled. "I thought you had a digital conference with New Delhi in a couple hours."

"I can run this in an hour." Warren read through the changes a second time to make sure. "I'll just reference the Mexico City program, add the Ecuador data and cycle it through the randomizer." Grinning, he added, "I could always pull an 'angel of death.' It's a good time as any to try it out."

Scott thought about it for a minute but shook his head. "I'd really like to give it a run myself just in case I--"

Reaching over the desk, Warren smacked Scott's head firmly with the file. "Repeat after me, Summers: I, Scott Summers--"

With a sigh, Scott placed his left hand over his heart and raised his right up in an oath-taking pose. "I, Scott Summers."

"Will learn to take help from my friends."

"Will learn to take help from my friends."

"Because I'm not a demi-god no matter how many mountains I can raze with my eye-lasers."

"They're not lasers, they're--"

"Shut up and repeat the oath, Summers."

Barely able to keep his beleaguered expression in place, Scott obediently said, "I'm not a demi-god no matter how many mountains I can raze with my force blasts."

"And I will thank my friend, Warren, for the help he is offering and will henceforth never protest when he offers his much needed help."

"Never protest?" Scott said. He didn't think he could keep that promise.

Apparently, Warren didn't either. "Well, I won't protest for the next twenty-four hours. This vow is null and void when dealing with plumbing, however."

"Yeah, some friend." Cracking, a grin, Scott waved his away. "Thanks, man."

He didn't finish reading by the time he had to perform the bed and bathroom checks. As he walked the halls, Scott recalled Ororo and Narda's words. He paused before Rogue and Kitty's door but, with a cursory sniff, he dismissed the thoughts. Remy liked the ladies, true, but he'd never be cruel about it and he would definitely _never_ take advantage of someone so young or someone practically his student.

"Rogue, Kitty, lights better be out by the time I come around again," he said, rapping the door lightly, erasing the subject from his mind.

* * *

The sound of knocking faded in the wind curling around the rooftop. Shivering, Gambit squeezed Rogue closer, rubbing her arms then his and then hers again. "You can do this, Peaches," he said, securing her set in its belt pouch. "Just go in, get the prize and go out. Nothing to it, right?" 

He winked. The butterflies in Rogue's stomach decided to break-dance. "Except you're watching me through the whole thing, waiting for me to mess up," she retorted.

"You haven't needed me to tell you anything for the past couple weeks. And this ain't Fort Knox; it's just Scott's room."

"Pissing off the assistant headmaster isn't supposed to make me more nervous?"

Instead of answering, Gambit stepped away from the edge of the roof. Plucking a stopwatch from this air-- Rogue knew that was just a very smooth palm-- he lowered his chin. The start button ticked.

Instantly, Rogue whirled around and ran for the west wing. Her soft shoes gripped the shingles, a little uncertain, until she reached the three-quarter-way to the tower. The wall was a black block from that distance but Rogue knew from practice runs that ivy and moss choked the grout, both aiding and hindering climbers. She opened her powder pouch, taking out a pinch of talcum to dry the sweat from her hands. Without breaking stride, she went from the roof to the tower wall, landing on the ivy in a cat-grab.

Taking a second to catch her breath, Rogue scaled the wall. One day, she'd be able to do this without the aid of the ivy or the talcum powder but for now, she concentrated on using the thicker branches as holds. The trick to free-climbing was balance. By sticking close to the wall, she didn't have to rely on her upper body strength as much; physics did half the work for her.

Even then, it took ten minutes to climb the wall. Starting to pant from her exertions, Rogue gritted her teeth and pulled herself up into a handstand as she reached the tower's crenellations. Gambit smiled. He'd asked for two flairs on this test; that was flair number one. Seeing her disappear behind the tower, he picked his away across the lower roof to meet her on the other side.

The moon picked out the white blaze of her bangs as she peered over the edge. Descending always took longer than ascending simply because the body insisted that it was about to fall and hesitated for half-seconds that added to minutes. His eyes always worked better in the dark and so Gambit could focus on any missteps. He tried not to wince when she used too thin a branch as a foothold and had to scrabble frantically to keep from falling.

After the tower, running across the other side of the roof was a piece of cake. He was right behind her as she counted windows and lowered a periscope to double-check her chosen spot. Satisfied with her decision, Rogue unrolled a series of nylon ropes and locks, attaching them to her belt and looping them around her legs.

"Spot me," she signed.

Gambit nodded and locked the other ends of the harnesses around his own waist. Points to her for realising that she needed a partner for this particular pinch. He allowed her to direct him, bracing his feet against the stone edging and slowly feeding the rope as she lowered herself off the roof to hang in front of the window.

This was the hardest part. Gambit had outlined the pinch but she was in charge of the mechanics. She'd had to figure out the security devices herself before the pinch even started, disarm it, get in, get the item, get out and, perhaps most challenging of all, re-arm the alarms so that no one would suspect anything. All of this and she couldn't leave a trace. Gambit would be in there after tonight looking for prints or displaced items.

Four minutes later, the alarm hadn't gone off yet and Rogue's rope went slack, signalling that she'd unhooked herself from it. He followed her in, checking on her set-up. Angled mirrors for the lasers and a neat hook on the latch. Damn good job, this. Rogue stood in the middle of the room, turning around slowly on one heel. He could nearly hear the click-click-click of her brain as she observed and catalogued possible hiding places for the prize. In the end, she went for the closet. Gambit's eyes narrowed but he didn't say anything. He'd gone through the closet himself without finding the stash but he'd let her learn that lesson herself.

To his surprise, she went straight for the back of the closet. Carefully pushing items aside, she felt along the walls. Gambit peered over her shoulder. Her nails scratched at a loose board. She bent it back, quickly reached in and took her hand out again holding a small nylon pouch.

She signalled the retreat. Gambit swung back up to the roof to secure the harness while Rogue strapped herself in. In a few minutes, she was out of the room and racing for the north wing. Dodging the tower, she dove head first for the lower roof, flipping once before landing. Her second flair. After a second's pause to catch her balance, she easily ran back to the starting point.

Panting quietly, she handed him the package. "Well?"

He weighed the bag in his hand. "I can't be sure until I check things out in the morning, Stripes, but if you went in there as smoothly as it looks, you passed with flying colours."

Breathless with joy, Rogue buried her face in Gambit's chest, nearly squeezing in the breath out of him. "That was _so_ much fun," she said. "Am I allowed to say that?"

"Peaches, if you aren't having fun, why bother doing it?" He twirled her out and back into his arms, kissing the top of her head before spinning her back to the edge of the roof. "How'd you know where the pic-- the package was?"

"After we got attacked in March, they came in with pre-fab closets because we didn't really have time to renovate properly. Some of them have spaces between the walls. His closet looked like the ones we had." She smiled, obviously proud of herself. She had every right to be. Hell, _he_ was proud as hell of her.

"You deserve a prize," said Gambit.

"Even though I haven't technically passed?"

He grinned. "How about you and me hop over to the rec room and get in touch with space cowboys?"

"Again? So, what part of training is that?"

"You know a lot of cops trust their partners more than their wives?" Remy snagged his grappling hook on the chimney and swung down to the ground floor.

Rogue climbed down as soon as his feet touched the patio tiles. "And now, I've _really_ lost my thing for men in uniform."

With a shallow bow, Remy gestured for Rogue to unlatch and disarm the French doors leading into the rec room. "Partners hang out," said he simply. "And to be honest, Sugarplum, you're a fun person to hang out with. You gave me space cowboys, for fuck's sake! If that ain't a sign of true friendship, I don't know what is."

"The fact that Mr. Worthington goes purple every time he sees us hanging out has nothing to do with it."

"You wound me." Remy placed a hand over his chest to show the exactly where her verbal lash hit.

"What do you have against him, anyway?"

Scratching his chin, Remy said, "Let's sum it up to his thinking that he's God's gift."

"To women?" Rogue clarified.

"Among other things," said Remy. "Women, men, dogs, certain breeds of chickens."

Muffling her laughter, Rogue shoved him through the opened door. "It takes one to know one, buster."

"Are you actually comparing me to that overgrown pigeon?"

"Minus a couple million in the bank and a Rolex watch--"

Remy snorted. "Wanna-bes wear Rolexes. This is a Breguet."

With a snort of her own-- and a more impressive one too-- Rogue pushed him into the couch then fell onto it herself. Only a soft smack of her thigh kept her from squashing his lap. "Have I told you lately that you're conceited?"

"No and I've been feeling distinctly unloved because of it."

"Well, you are. Now shut up and watch the show."

* * *

A lot of people were at the meeting today. Adam started to smile but one look at Gav's face wiped that away quick. 

"What?" he whispered. "I thought a lot of people on our side was good?"

"It is," said Gav, in that cautious way of his, like he had to mentally compose sentences before speaking. "However, too many at one meeting might alert the unwanted."

Hmmm. Good point.

"It cannot be helped," Gav added. "Come, let us fetch our assignments."

_A lot_ was a relative phrase of course. Including the two of them, there were fifteen people in the room. They passed by a guard who nodded before frisking them. Adam had to repress a shudder; the guy was on their side but he'd been on the business end of those guns and needles too many times to fully trust anyone in a black uniform.

Tonight, the meeting was in a utilities room on the second sub-basement. Adam passed through the dizzying border of a collar-disruptor; Gav grabbed his shoulder to keep him from knocking his head on the doorjamb.

"I'm never going to get used to that," Adam said sheepishly.

"Good," said Gav. "Only those who have been here many years are accustomed to it."

Yeah. Gav was really good at bringing down the mood.

Frenzy, one of the major-leaguers in the Resistants and the scariest damn person Adam had ever met since he broke his arm and had a nurse from hell give him X-rays, nodded to acknowledge their presence. "I haven't seen you in the pens in a while, Gav."

"Ghosts," Gav said curtly and Frenzy didn't ask any more questions. There was a running debate on who were worse: the guards or the doctors, also known as ghosts for their lab coats. Adam had never been squeamish about needles until he came here.

"Lots of people here," said Adam.

"Most are leaders," added Gav. It was hard to be certain but he might have been disapproving.

"I know," Frenzy said, "It's risky but Domino insisted on spreading the news quickly." Turning to the rest of the room, Frenzy lifted her arms for silence. "This will be quick but important. Someone has gotten this information from a main computer." She lifted a memory stick.

Adam took his cue. As one of the few Resistants who knew their way around modern computers, his main job around here was to decode useful information from useless and do it quickly. It wasn't as hackers as it sounded; from what he'd gathered, he was one of the few people who'd been taken after the mid-nineties and the only one taken after the millennium. For some reason, everyone else was freaked out by the idea of itty-bitty floppy disc-like things. Fully half of the Resistants were, strangely, vat-rats and had never seen computers before.

Frenzy slid a laptop to his end of the table. Adam slipped the memory stick into a makeshift reader and started rooting around the contents. Quickly discarding the smaller files, he clicked on a good sized jpeg document.

A browser popped up to envelop the whole screen. To Adam's amusement, Gav and the others jumped back, their mouths forming little O's of surprise and amazement at the graphics.

There were lines. Different coloured lines with labels like "A02" and "A17." Acting on a hunch and a culturally-bred habit of clicking randomly, Adam pointed the arrow over "A17" and clicked. A new window slid out, this one an image file of handwritten notes.

"It's dated June 12, 1948," read Adam. "Devonshire, England, blah, blah, blah. Subject has osseous tumours, the measurement of which will be outlined below: six-eighths of a ... boring, boring...Wait, there's some different stuff. Delivered retrovirus with hypodermic syringe through the left carotid artery. Delivered placebo to control subject. Is any of this making sense or should I go somewhere else?"

"Move forward," said Gav. "Find information more pertinent to the current date."

"Okay. Fast forwarding." Adam closed the document down and returned to the main chart. There, he clicked on an orange line coming from A17. More spidery lines grew from the label, like geometric branches..A17-ABA5. A17-ARL3. A17-AKB3. Adam dragged through the lines until A17 melded with D02 and the nomenclature changed: KY-II-ABT4, AK-IV-DAA5, MA-I-ABO2

"These are us," said Adam numbly. "These are notes about us. What they're doing to us."

"Yes," was all Frenzy said. "Is there anything on the building? Any maps or place names?"

After a few minutes of searching, Adam shook his head. "Nothing on this file. I can check the others."

"Quickly," Gav said. "We must disperse in six minutes and fourteen seconds."

"I can only go as fast as the processor will let me and, dude, this thing can barely handle having a card reader in it."

"Well, can you tell if there is anything of worth?"

Adam shook his head as he scanned the file names. "This has word documents, images, video files, something looks like it might be spyware... And they're not exactly being helpful with the titles. TX-84, KY-77. AuxLoc03. It's like the most boring, anal person ever made the manuals for this company." He paused. "Like my brother."

"Those could be states and years," suggested Resistant member behind Adam.

"Yeah, but how do we know which have something useful?"

"Well, if someone would tell me what they were looking for," said Adam, getting testy.

"That will compromise our group," Frenzy said.

"So will slogging through a frillion documents at random!" He glared at Frenzy who returned his look imperiously. Before getting thrown into the lab, Adam would have broken the stare immediately. The New and Improved Adam was not going to take any of her shit.

"Two minutes and forty-three seconds," Gav gritted out. "We must prepare to leave."

"Security information," Frenzy finally said, giving in.

Woot! Adam tried not to grin too widely but failed.

"We apparently don't have anything useful in this drive," Frenzy added, just to be irritating.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Adam raised his arms. "Now that I know what we're looking for, that makes everything a lot easier. Sort of. The security specs will probably be on a PDF or something so I can get rid of half the things on this drive. You're sure this was the right file?"

"We have it one the greatest authority," the guard said.

"How long do you need?" asked Frenzy.

"Two hours?" Adam said cautiously. "Maybe three if these documents have a lot of writing. Unless there's someone who's mutant power is speed-reading."

"We cannot risk four hours," said Gav.

"We'll figure something out," Frenzy said. "Right now, we have to disappear."

The guard quickly grabbed her and one of the vat-rats by the collar and shoved them towards the door. Frenzy assumed a meek stance. It didn't quite suit her but most people were fooled. Gav and Adam waited a few seconds before leaving, turning in the opposite direction. They'd received and memorized this shift's guard pattern. It changed every day according to the sticks they had on the inside.

As they ducked into adjoining alcoves, Adam said, "Skids says she doesn't bother hiding in secure hallways any more."

Gav's eyebrows flickered but he didn't reply. Bending down, he ran to the end of the hall, listening cautiously for footsteps. Adam followed him around the corner where they waited, crouched before moving again.

"Skids will die before we escape," said Gav. When Adam stared at him in horror, he elaborated, "She is too confident. She will be caught and killed."

"Dude. Harsh." He would have said more but Gav covered his mouth and pressed him back against the wall, holding a finger against his own lips for silence. Really, when the guy did things like that how could Adam not like him? It took all of his willpower not to stick his tongue out and have a little taste. Just a small one. A microscopic taste. He could pretend he was licking his lips or something.

Then, holy ever-lovin shit, Gav was leaning towards him, his face drawing closer, his lips brushing Adam's ear and he smelled really freakin' _good_. "Are you hurt?"

"Mmmrh?" Adam gurgled, drowning as he was in a keg of lust.

"You whimpered. Are you hurt?"

He could pretend. He could fake a knee injury and Gav would have to kneel and, oh, hell, if he didn't stop fantasizing right now, he was going to have to jerk off then listen to Scalphunter sneer at him for needing to jerk off even though he, Adam, heard him, Scalphunter, jerk off on a regular basis as well and using the weirdest expletives ever involving ABBA and someone named Beth doing something that Adam was sure would hurt without some really good stretching first and maybe liberal use of shrooms although why Scalphunter would want any more drugs after this place pumped them full of the stuff as beyond imagination but then maybe it had something to do with voluntary drugs use versus forced although if had to be honest with himself, the stuff they used to knock him out for testing was really pretty nice once you relaxed into it.

"You think too hard," said Gav.

"Thanks?"

He moved his chin to the left. That was Gav's version of a head shake. "Later. Move."

All the corridors were dim. Adam heard it was so the prisoners would be easier to freak out. He also heard that mutants were mostly solar powered and darkness weakened them. For all he knew, the owner just wanted to save on his electric bill and prevent a screaming sign that said "Mad Scientists Here." It made for really difficult running if you didn't have night vision that Gav did.

Instead of turning left to the electrical ducts, Gav hung a right. Adam's heart went into triple beat. The service shafts were to the right. The service shafts with their many alcoves and winding passageways that were so numerous and convoluted no one bothered to monitor them. The service shafts which were the lab's version of lover's lane.

One of Gav's eyebrows rose as they approached an alcove, a self-assured question on his face as he turned his hand up. With a little less confidence, Adam accepted the hand. Gav pulled him into the alcove. Adam's breath caught as he pushed his lips against Gav's, humming quietly in reaction to the still-strange sensation of another person's tongue in his mouth. It felt good and weird at the same time, soft, full and slimy, kind of like a ginormous wad of gum only so much better.

With a wall at his back and Gav's knee between his thighs, Adam's humming increased in volume. He pulled on Gav's ears to bring him closer, to stifle any more sounds that might come out of his mouth.

It didn't work.

But both boys were beyond caring.


	37. Past Interlude 13, Westchester, NY, 1995

**Past Interlude #13: Westchester, New York - 1995**

* * *

Alex stood apart from his brothers because he was afraid. Scott was going to love this mansion disguised as a school. How could anyone not like living here? 

Through stolen sideling peeks, he observed his brothers sitting on the bench. Remy had gone through a quarter pack of cigarettes today and Scott never said a word. Adam hadn't moved for a full seven minutes, even with the temptation of a half-empty pool right in front of them. The universe had tilted on its axis, spinning backwards and no one wanted to say anything because if they ignored it, it wasn't happening.

Viciously, Alex ripped a flower from a decorative pot. His pulse throbbed in his eye sockets.

"So how much longer do you have to stay here?" he asked Scott. "Three whole months we've been out of school and now they say you have to stay here the rest of the year. I swear, they're just stringing you along."

Remy snorted, crushing one cigarette even as he charged the end of a new one.

"You're gonna get in trouble with Dad if he sees you smoking," said Alex.

His brother only extended his middle finger.

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Adam tried to squirm higher on Scott's lap but the older boy resisted, pushing the seven-year-old away from his face. "I don't want you to go 'way, Scott. I gotta get more badges."

Scott brushed his fingers through Adam's fine blond hairs with practiced ease. "I'll help you get badges, don't worry. I'm sure I'll get a hang of these optic blasts soon. Remember what I told you about Remy? He went here too when he was eleven and he only had to stay for a few months."

Adam tried to smile. "An' now he can 'splode things."

"Yeah."

"Can I 'splode things?"

Alex snorted. "One big, happy, pyromaniac family," he said, veering clumsily away from Scott's disapproving expression.

"We'll see when you're older," Scott said. "Do you really want to live here by yourself for a few months?"

His little brow wrinkling, Adam shook his head. "You're gonna be here. And Remy 'cause he needs to teach you how t 'splode things better 'cause he's been doing it longer."

"What about Alex?"

"What _about_ Alex?" Remy flicked ash snidely from his cigarette. Alex didn't know there was a way to snidely flick a cigarette but if anyone would know how, that someone would be Remy.

Adam giggled. "Alex can clean the pool!"

Alex's eyes narrowed. "Twerp."

"Poohead!"

Scott frowned. "Not cool, guys. If this is how you're going to act while I'm away, who's going to take care of Remy?"

Remy pretended to flick his cigarette at Scott but Alex knew he wasn't really.

Adam sighed, nestling deeper on Scott's lap. "I want hot cocoa. With toast."

"Don't think they'd have normal white bread here," said Remy. "Probably have a Star Trek toaster instead of a proper one and God forbid we use skim milk instead of whole." But he still followed Scott inside to the kitchen where they performed the age old ritual of melting chocolate bars over a pot of boiling milk, cutting crusts from white bread and spreading butter over toast. And for a little while, things were almost normal.


	38. The Brick Wall

**The Brick Wall**

* * *

Alex dealt with stress by working. He knew that compared to Scott, the Clark Kent/Superman clone and Remy, the con-man/rock star, his version of working was sadly mediocre but he liked it just fine and to hell with them anyway. It took a higher form of intelligence to act as mediator. That and masochism.

A binder full of his findings under his arm, Alex strolled into the medlab, his usual hang-out. "You're back to that?"

Hank waved at his three-month officemate and part-time lab assistant. "Good evening, Alex. Isn't it rather late to do research?"

"So says the guy who forgets to eat and sleep when he has a lead." Alex tapped the binder. "I think I'm getting closer to something. It's like... I see all the corner pieces and a few patches in the middle and I just have to work everything else out."

Grinning toothily, Hank said, "I'd offer my advance congratulations. Unfortunately, I won't be able to help you today as I have dedicated the rest of my day to this collar."

"How did the last test go?"

"Less than brilliantly, I'm afraid." Hank pushed back from the desk, leaning back in what Alex now recognized as his "lecture" position. Alex sat back himself to get more comfortable. Hank's lectures, while illuminating, frequently resulted in God's own case of numb-bum.

"While wearing the collar, there doesn't seem to be any adverse effects. As you can attest to, Rogue's power is negated, leaving both you and her as conscious and physically intact as ever. Piotr cannot shift into his metallic form and David, as the control group, suffers nothing more than slight stomach upset. I am, however, rather wary of the effect of this added electrical charge to personal bioelectrical dynamics."

"Have you seen anything unusual in the readings?" asked Alex. "I mean, other than the usual unusual."

"Any tampering with the body's physiology is dangerous," Hank said. "I will likely cap the tests at three hours and conduct the remaining experiments on a hypothetical level. It is far too dangerous to test it on live subjects and I doubt the student population would be amenable animal testing even if we could shrink the collar to fit a rat. My goodness, here I am again expatiating when you've just mentioned that you're busy with your own research."

"Don't worry about it," Alex said. "If I didn't want to talk to you, I wouldn't set up my study-room down here."

Hank grinned wide enough to look like a smile instead of a grimace. "Your indulgence is appreciated as always. Oddly enough, not everyone finds appeal in the discourse on the mutant promoter genes."

"What can I say? People are nuts." With a chuckle, Alex playfully jabbed at Hank's arm.

"Truly, you have lifted an Atlasian weight from my shoulders the past few months," Hank continued in a much more serious tone. "Scott often boasted of your academic prowess when he was a student. Without you, the idea of juggling my many hats in the school would have been unfathomable."

"Thanks, Hank." Not knowing whether to preen or blush, Alex changed the subject instead. "Look, I just remembered I have to call my girlfriend. Can I pop into your office?"

"By all means."

He really sucked at phone calls and had been meaning to actually talk to her instead of sending off short emails. It was probably morning in Hawai'i already. Alex pressed the speed dial on his phone.

"Hello?"

Alex's shoulders relaxed at the sound of her voice. "Hey, babe."

"Oh, my god, Alex!" He heard her chair squeak on the other end. "Hang on, I'm in the study hall. Let me just..." Her voice faded for a few seconds. "Okay. I can talk now."

"It's not a top secret conversation."

"You haven't been here for months. This place might as well be Area 51 with all the armed guards passing thorough."

That was expected. Disturbing but expected. "Has anyone been in my room since the explosion?"

Lorna huffed. "Alex, the building got bombed. Everyone from CIA operatives to construction workers to tourists has been through the building."

"Crap."

"The police got most of the personal effects in the rooms so even if some of your stuff survived, it'd be held for investigation," she said. "You were pretty close to the main area of the bombing."

"Pretty close? Baby, I could've petted that rocket."

"Yeah, so that? Really not the kind of thing that'll make me feel better." She lowered her voice. "They've asked me about where you are. I told them that I didn't know--"

"Which is true."

"-- but I did know that you wanted to visit your family."

"Again, true. You don't have you worry about anything," said Alex.

"Any time someone says that, you know it's because there really is something to worry about." Lorna sighed, making Alex wish he was beside her. She had the cutest head-tilt when she sighed, perfect for tucking his lips into her neck. "It's kind of creepy around here. There's military everywhere and I've had classes cancelled twice because some people want to interview the students and the professors."

"Well, there _was_ a bomb. You know how jittery everyone would be about that."

"I guess. But..." She sighed again. "Alex, do you trust me?"

Oh, crap. This was _perfect_ timing, wasn't it? "I do, baby, but if you're going to ask about what I'm doing, it's not really my secret to tell."

"Okay," Lorna said quietly. "But... it's not anything illegal, is it?"

"Of course not," Alex lied easily. "It's just complicated. Hey, have you seen Milbury?"

"Nuh-uh. Not since you went off with him."

He hung up a few minutes later, knowing Lorna wouldn't be able to let this go. She was so good at prying secrets that she should have been a journalism major.

There went his Hawai'i lead. From this point forward, most of his new material would come from Remy. Scott sure as hell wasn't sharing. It hadn't passed Alex's notice that Scott was less than enthused about looking for Adam. After the hell Adam put them through the last time he ran away, Alex really couldn't blame him but there was a difference between Scott pissed off and Scott indifferent. This had too much of the latter for Adam to be comfortable with.

Indifference explained Remy's actions since coming to Xavier's. Remy wilted if he wasn't the centre of someone's attention and for reasons that Alex had never been able to understand, his other big brother downright shrivelled when Scott ignored him. Flirting with a student would guarantee attention all right; Scott would ram an optic blast full of attention down Remy's throat if he tried anything with one of his students.

So, Alex had three jobs to take care of before he could get back to living his life. First, he had to make Scott aware of Remy's exploits. Once Remy had Scott's attention back, they could all get down to the important business of looking for Adam. After _that_, he had first dibs beating on the assholes that caused all of this trouble. As entertaining as Hank's lab was, Alex had been perfectly content in Hawai'i, thank you very much.

* * *

Scott cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back before speaking. "Professor." 

"No, Scott, I haven't found new information on Adam's whereabouts."

During occasions when he was sure he wanted to sink into the ground (and there had been far too many of those to recount), Scott was infinitely glad of his father's heritage. They said colouring went first with mixed-blood Indians but in Scott's case, his natural colouring was bronze. Only years of dedicated hermitage mellowed his skin to its present off-tan. Still, the colouring kept anyone from knowing how often he blushed.

"Thank you, sir. I just... wanted to check before we left."

The professor inclined his chin. "I know we've been over this before but why won't you work with the information that Alex brought?"

Scott barely stifled an impatient huff. "I don't trust it."

"Alex?"

"Alex's informant," Scott clarified. "We can't waste time chasing down his false leads."

"Scott, we've been wasting time chasing down our own false leads," said the professor gently. And _that_ was as close to a rebuke as the professor was ever going to get.

If the professor knew how much Scott wanted to bug him about using Cerebro to find Adam (and Scott suspected that the professor _did_ know which made his reticence all the more galling especially since he had no idea himself _why_ he was being reticent), he would probably hit Scott on the head with Cerebro. Part of the reason he was so frantic about getting those two kids was because it made him feel a little less helpless. He could do something about Bobby and Jubilee now. He could save them _now_. With Adam, the sting of failure hurt too much for him to be able to concentrate. It was Jean all over again and he just could _not_ get his brain to go there, no matter how he tried.

Jesus, that was a long thought. He had to be really tired.

Xavier opened a drawer and took out a thickly stuffed accordion file. "I have also received further information on the army that engaged Fury's team in Darfur. All records point to the possibility of a large, hidden mutant population in the Middle East."

With a sardonic twist of his lips, Scott crossed his arms. "He's got some ba-- nerve asking us to do work after what he did."

"You did ask for a lot of help finding Adam," said Xavier.

"I know. But I don't have to like it." Scott took the folder and skimmed the material. "Cloning? Is this for real?"

"We have no solid evidence of it," said Xavier. "But the technology outlined is feasible to my knowledge. Hank will have to confirm it first of course."

"I could use one," Scott murmured as he tapped the papers back in place. "What does he want me to do about it?"

"I've already given Hank a copy of the first packet. The second one is for you and Angel. Fury would like you to investigate a possible laboratory which might be housing this project near the Conjunto Sao Isadore in Brazil. I advise you to keep this superficial despite SHIELD's request-- take note of the grounds and as much of the interior facilities that you can."

"Professor, you want us to lie?" Scott asked, feigning shock.

"I'm sure Angel will have many ideas as to how to get information with little interference."

"As long as we get the students first," said Scott. "Will that be all, sir?"

At the professor's nod, he headed for his office to assure himself that Kelly had all the material she would need in case they didn't come back on schedule then took the elevator to the hangar. Warren had already prepped up the Blackbird for him. Her engines purred, if the sound a twenty-foot lion made could be called a purr.

"I've checked our flight plan with the FAA," said Warren, handing him a checklist as soon as he buckled in. "We're good to go."

"Has SHIELD contacted us yet for coordinates?"

"No."

Scott's jaw tightened. "Let's just head in that general direction then. It's not like we can miss something as big as the Helicarrier."

"Roger, captain. Bringing her out."

Scott couldn't fight against a grin. "You're a dork," he said as soon as they were steady in the air.

"Technically, I'm closer to a duck. Oh and speaking of sitting ducks." Warren took his hand briefly off the controls to point at a leather attaché behind his seat. "My contact with the Inner Circle updated me on some stuff recently. Just before you came aboard, in fact."

"Yeah?" Scott stretched to grab the bag. "Tell me about it. I'll take the controls."

After a brief struggle with the seatbelts-- Warren's wings always gave him trouble in plane seats, even ones as roomy as the modified X-Jet-- he booted up the laptop and found the file in question. "Basically, there's a really long money trail with between them and three dummy corporations. They all lead to the same owner in the end along with a few others that have been buying things like solar cells and--" here, his wings ruffled with pleasure-- "desert real estate. I'm talking wastelands in the States, Africa, the Middle East, places that would cost an arm and a leg to make liveable."

"And there's nothing built on them," Scott deduced.

"Nope. Some properties were bought as long as forty years ago and there's still nothing. It just passed by everyone's radar because, well, they're really dumb places to buy land. The Rub al'Khali, for God's sake! The only things that survive there are bugs."

"So why buy them?" Scott thought aloud.

Warren made a noncommittal noise. "Exactly. Interestingly enough, a sister company to one of these real estate developers is in biotechnology. It's actually been dabbling in it from way back in the beginnings of DNA analysis, the human genome project and up to stem cell and mutation research."

"Those last two are still illegal."

"In the States, they're technically illegal," Warren agreed. "But there are lots of other countries that are more openly flexible. That was why I stayed up until one in the morning for talks with New Delhi. The laboratory I talked to specialised in creating simple tissues, mostly skin for grafts, but they're also experimenting with things like muscle fibres for people who've had major muscle loss through burns or bites, for example."

Scott's head was starting to hurt and not only from the biology refresher. "Okay, following you so far."

"Apparently, there are three companies who've been ordering nothing but proteoglycans. The gel inside eyeballs or between joints for lubrication," Warren explained. "It's used in hospitals to prevent clotting, too."

"And this is strange?"

"On the whole, there isn't really a need for vats of proteoglycans. There's no such thing as whole eye replacements, after all, just corneas. This company buys gallons of this stuff, the equivalent of one fuel truck a month. That's a heck of a lot of eyeball jelly."

Scott's back went cold. "Abandonned real estate and biotechnology equipment." He took a deep breath to push the nausea down. "Shit."

"We have names," Warren rushed to assure him. "The largest company involved -- the main one-- is based in Sweden. The third largest has an outfit in Bulgaria."

"Who's the second?"

Warren's wings shivered again, this time in agitation. "The government of the United States of America."

* * *

With one last tug of his tie, Remy told his reflection, "You are kicking ass tonight, my man." 

"You betcha you are, sugar." Rogue leaned against the door, a vision in teal with a skirt cut up way up to there and a bodice cut all the way down to there. Her hairclip had all sorts of green-blue feathers hanging off of it, one fluttering over her eyes.

Remy's insides pulled.

She sashayed to his side, her long, pale legs balanced on fuck-me heels with little bows around the ankles that just begged to be unravelled with his mouth. "You're looking so good I really don't feel like sharing you."

"But we're all dressed up already," he offered in token protest.

With a wicked smile on her ruby-red lips, Rogue raised a hand to her left hip and tugged. The entire teal bit of nothingness slipped off her body, leaving her in nothing but shoes, very brief briefs and that damned feather clip still teasing her eye. She was at his side in an instant, yanking his tie down so that he could see every crease in her lips.

Remy pulled her into close-embrace position, their chests touching. Her nipples pebbled against his shirt. "Not interested in tango lessons tonight, I see."

"Screw the tango, sugar." Her very breath kissed him. "I want you to teach me a more horizontal dance." And she-- there was no other word for it-- shimmied against his body.

They danced back to the bed, collapsing back on it. She was light as air on his stomach, her hair coming loose from its bun and falling, mahogany and ivory, on his chest, her breasts soft, alabaster peaches in his hands. When she kissed him, she left ruby all over his mouth and cheeks and neck and jaw.

"I want you, Remy," she said, travelling lower on his torso. "I want your cock in me."

"Jesus Christ," was all Remy could come up with.

"Fuck me _hard_, Mr. Summers." Her mouth closed over him.

And that was when Remy woke up, hard as fucking granite and disturbed beyond belief. He jumped out of bed and ran into his little ensuite bathroom where he tried to think of someone--anyone-- besides Rogue as he jerked off into the shower. Everyone from Angelina Jolie to Drew Barrymore to Angelina Jolie making out with Drew Barrymore faded back to that mental image of Rogue in heels and red lipstick and oh, shit, he couldn't breathe!

One arm braced against the wall, his whole body stiff, Remy came.

As soon as feeling came back to his body, Remy crawled to the sink where he dragged his body up for a good splash of cold water.

Okay.

Okay.

_Okay_, he had to figure out what the fucking hell just happened. Fantasizing about Rogue was just not right. It was beyond wrong. It was… Keee-rist, she called him "Mr. Summers" in the dream.

Remy dunked his whole head in the sink and just let the cold water pour over his head and down his back.

It was just a weird wet dream, he told himself. Lots of people had weird wet dreams. This was _Rogue_. Rogue was his partner. She was his buddy. He had a feeling she was the only friend he had and he sure as hell didn't want her to turn into a fling.

"A weird wet dream," he told himself as he walked out of the bathroom.

Rogue was still in his room, hands on her hips and popping mad.

Remy gaped, shook his head and gaped some more.

Hold on, _this_ Rogue wore cotton PJs and her hair was in a rough braid not an artfully curled bun.

"Remy, I--" Her words stopped abruptly and turned into a squeal. "Oh, gawd, you're naked!"

Whuh? Remy dove back into the bathroom for a towel, his heart going crazy. An unfamiliar heat rose in his cheeks. Was he… could he be blushing? Jesus! What the hell was wrong with him tonight?

Pulling a cigarette in his mouth, he sauntered back out. "Sugarplum, if you wanted to get a bit freaky, you should've warned me first."

"Remy, please, I'm not here to--" She pursed her lips. "What the hell did you get me to steal?" She threw a flat rectangle on the bed. It landed face up. A blonde woman smiled warmly at the ceiling, her cheerleader cuteness still apparent although she had an arm around two little boys.

"It's just a picture," Remy said.

"That's not just a picture," Rogue countered. "That's Mr. Summers' mom."

"I know."

"Remy, you don't just take things like that! They're... they're precious." She crossed her arms. "You don't take something like it unless you really want to hurt someone."

Remy did the same. "It's _just_ a picture, Stripes. Don't get your panties in a twist."

But she wasn't reacting to the old Remy charm. "Is this part of the little war you're having with your brothers?"

"Jesus, Rogue, it's the middle of the night. Do we really gotta hash this out right--"

Growling, Rogue smacked the bed's footboard. "I am _not_ going to be used again! You wanted to train me, fine, thanks a load for it and I'll even help you find your brother but don't think for one second that I'm going to let you manipulate me into helping you win some sort of family dick-measuring contest."

"That's enough." Remy's vision went bright and he knew that his eyes had flashed.

Rogue drew herself up, filling her lungs with air and maybe courage or righteous indignation. "I thought you were my friend," she threw at him as she ran out the door.

Remy stalked back to his closet of a bathroom to clean up. What did she know, the uppity little-- That, he told himself, was what happened when he let someone get past the shades. They poked and prodded and when they found something they didn't like-- 'cause they always found something they didn't like about Remy-- they couldn't wait to get away.

So he didn't chase after her and told himself that he didn't regret it.


	39. Past Interlude 14, Astoria, OR, 2003

**Past Interlude #14: Astoria, Oregon - 2003**

* * *

The first time Lee Forrester talked to Adam Summers online, she thought he was the cutest thing in the world. It wasn't his boy band looks, although a lot more of Lee's classmates hung around the marina now that Adam was here. Lee snorted; just 'cause they were nicer to the Fish Girl, didn't mean that she'd let them get their skanky paws on her friend. 

He was exactly her type too-- blonde curls, cinnamon eyes, lanky musculature and a knowledge of car engines that was positively X-rated. But the more they talked, the more Lee stopped lusting after him and, instead, started wanted to take care of him. Heck, her entire family got in on the act. Her mom couldn't stop feeding him, her dad gruffly warned him about sunburns every morning and her gramps skipped Jeopardy three times to watch "Pimp My Ride" with Adam instead. Even her brothers, the same guys who greeted her seventh grade crush by making him eat carpet, clucked over Adam like he was some helpless puppy.

Which, Lee reflected, he really was.

That also explained why her entire family was ready to call in the cops as soon as Adam's family came barging through the door fourteen days after Adam appeared with a duffel bag, a store-bought pie and a grin. One Adam Summers was enough to make the street swoon. Five Summers' threw Mrs. Finnegan across the street into a horniness seizure.

While Capt. Summers ushered Lee's parents and grandfather out the door for an apologetic lunch, Adam's brothers surrounded him.

"What the hell" were you thinking?" hissed the oldest looking one with a pair of punkish shades that were at odds with his prep school outfit. "Do you know how many runaways get killed a year? Or worse?"

Adam crossed his arms and stared determinedly out into the ocean.

"Let me hit him," begged the only other blond Summers.

The long-haired brother smacked him upside the head. "Shut up, Alex."

"He needs to be hit."

This time, the eldest one joined the long-haired one in saying "Shut up, Alex" before returning his attention to Adam. "It's bad enough you do this type of crap in California--"

"School sucks," said Adam. "It's boring and I know I'm not going to college so why bother?"

"Why bother... not go to college?" The eldest one looked ready to pop his top off. Lee contemplated intruding but the long-haired one got there before she did.

"Let me handle this, Scott."

"Be my guest!" Scott leaned back and crossed his arms, like a darker, older reflection of Adam.

The long-haired one took Adam by the arm and marched him to the window. Lee strained to hear what he was saying.

"Smarten up, Blue. This is getting really tired. You're too fucking old to throw temper tantrums and we're getting too fucking broke to bail you out every time you decide that your goddamn Jeep should have been an Escalade. It was barely cute when you were thirteen; it's just an annoying inconvenience now."

"Fuck you," sneered Adam, wiping his nose with his arm.

His brother slapped his head lightly. "You want to fuck with me, Adam? Come on." He stepped back, taking a fighting stance.

Alex made his way between them. "Oh no, Remy. If Adam's ass is going to get kicked, I'm going to be the one who does it."

"Alex, stop being a Neanderthal," said Scott.

Half-turning, Alex said, "Up yours, Scotty. I'm the only one who actually disciplines the damn kid. Every time he fucks up, you two slap his knuckles then buy him an iPod to make his widdle tears go away."

Screaming at the top of his lungs, Adam leapt for Alex. Remy grunted as he flung his arms around Adam's waist, barely able to hold him back. Scott wasn't as quick nor was he lucky enough to have the lighter brother. Alex's fist managed to graze Remy's shoulder and Alex's chin before Scott could hook his foot around Alex's ankle and throw him on the floor.

"That's enough out of all of you," he said. His voice had gone all quiet. It reminded Lee of the thick stillness before a thunderstorm. "This is hardly the type of behaviour to show our hosts. I don't even expect this from my students and most of them are Adam's age."

"Le-dee-da," muttered Remy.

Scott's lips tightened but all he said was, "Remy, help Adam get his things packed. Alex, come with me to get something for the Forresters."

Alex rolled his eyes. "I don't think a hundred bucks and a fruitcake will make up for having Adam around for two weeks."

At that comment, Adam rushed back down the hall and screamed, "I hate you!"

"Fuck you!" Alex yelled back.

Letting out twin sighs, Remy and Scott folded their sleeves up and punched one brother each in the gut. Gasping in outrage, Lee strode into the room wielding a cordless phone and a broomstick. "Stop beating him up! He's just a kid."

Remy cocked his head with an amused smile while Scott, releasing a growling Alex, quirked one eyebrow up from behind his shades. "Lee, right?" His voice had turned soothingly monotone. "Thanks so much for looking after Adam. I assure you this won't happen again."

"Why? 'Cause you're going to beat him to death?"

"Is that what he's telling you?" Remy let out a quick laugh and ruffled Adam's hair. "Did you go all the way and give yourself bruises this time?"

Adam muttered "Hate. You. All." and stayed crouched on the floor.

"This is the third time this year that Adam's run away," said Scott. "I think he was just running out of classmates to help him out."

"He's got to be running away for a reason," Lee said. She tried to catch Adam's eye and failed. "I mean, normally, people my age don't run away to another state just because."

"She's got a point," said Remy.

Scott grunted his agreement.

"So." Remy helped Adam up, straightening his shirt. "Why do you run away so much, Little Boy Blue?"

Adam scuffed his shoe against the floor, his hand spasmodically scratching at his elbow.

"Adam?" Scott's voice grew softer, less icy.

He lifted his head and Lee saw that brittle, brilliant smile. "How else am I supposed to piss you all off at the same time?"


	40. Burn

**Burn**

* * *

The laptop didn't know how close it was from being jettisoned out the window. Nothing made sense. 

Three months of research-- _three_-- and everything came to a dead end. Alex had called neighbours, Adam's friends, Adam's enemies and the San Diego police department. No one came forward with new information. He even called Adam's online friend in Oregon but she was as helpful as everyone else, which was to say, not at all. Needless to say, his schoolwork suffered as a result of the obsession.

Adam's computer sat in the middle of Alex's alcove off the side of the medlab, its guts hanging from the frame. Like a squid devouring a whale, Alex's laptop exploded with wires that reached into Adam's computer, sucking information from its harddrive. On his left were the government files from Milbury, the contents tiling the parts of the floor that were still bare. Remy's picture was no-where in sight. Alex couldn't have him watching all of this going on, not in that damned washed-out photograph usually saved for celebrity mugshots.

"Something is missing," Alex muttered. He stepped between the papers, picking his way from between the components just as his cell phone played a Ludacris song.

He juggled the phone a few times before answering it. "Heya, Butthead."

Remy snorted. "I wouldn't talk, Bevis. You're not busy right now."

"What if I am?"

"Don't care. I need you to look at a set of files."

"Do I look like your assistant?"

"My assistant's a helluva lot cuter and besides, you're not doing anything right now anyway."

"How do you know?"

"If you were really busy, you wouldn't've heard the phone ring."

Damn the man for having a good memory. Alex sighed. "Okay, what is it?"

"On the far left side of my closet upstairs, there's a laptop. It's in the bottom drawer on the first column that you see on your left. I've got the keypad locked to my fingerprint but I can give it an override through my PDA so you can get into it."

"Geez, what's in that file, the cremated remains of Jimmy Hoffa?"

"I know nothing about him nor have I been anywhere near Giants Stadium," Remy replied. "The password on the main screen are our birth days and it'll give you two tries before locking down for twenty-four hours so make sure you know which order to key the date in."

"How do I--"

"Hell, boy, you got an IQ of ten billion, figure it out." He heard Remy murmur to someone before continuing. "Rogue wants to know if Hank expects her for collar testing tomorrow."

"Yeah, at around ten in the morning."

Remy passed the message on before continuing with his own instructions. "There's a file there called Account39. I sent some information there that might help you. Just be careful about letting any hard copies out; lock them back up for the night and shred them after you're done."

"Do I have to give anyone a secret handshake?"

"Alex, no one wants to get a handjob from someone as sexually incompetent as you." Remy signed off before Alex could retort.

Remy's room was in immaculate order, as always. If only his many conquests knew that Remy got more excited over a California Closets sale than a black thong, they might coo a little less about his manliness. The laptop lay exactly as described inside a black neoprene envelope. Alex pushed the fingerprint pad open and waited for the display to go from red to green; he couldn't even flip the screen up with the lock engaged.

Alex's cell phone rang. "You got the laptop?" asked Remy.

"Yes, oh, master."

"Okay, putting in the override. You got five seconds to open it."

"Why don't you do this yourself?" asked Alex, fumbling with the latch. "I do have schoolwork to do, y'know. You aren't even paying me to be your personal investigator."

"I'm busy getting information that you need," said Remy.

"You mean information that'll clear you of the FBI file."

"Listen, Moshpit, whoever gave you that file is stringing you along. I don't get caught."

"That you know of." Alex clicked through the icons until he reached the specified file.

"I am teflon."

"Toxic?"

"Funny." Muffled sounds came from the other end. "Look, I gotta go. Take a look at those files and let me know what you can put together. Tomorrow morning, maybe?"

"What are you doing tonight?" Alex wanted to know.

"Stuff."

"With Rogue?"

He almost grinned as he imagined Remy's teeth gritting. "Don't start, Blondie."

"Dude, you're the one biting at jailbait. I just--- huh." Alex stared at the phone. Remy had hung up on him.

Oh, well. Back to real work. Alex brought the other laptop downstairs, placing it beside his. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. Everyone's birth days, huh? Knowing Remy's background, the password wouldn't be something as simple as just numbers. He'd mean the actual days of the week. It would be easy enough to find his, Scott and Adam's birth days but Remy's was a little bit harder. Dad hadn't really gotten any information about Remy's birthday and Alex had never heard him talk about birthday celebrations in New Orleans. They just always celebrated Remy's birthday as the day Dad brought him home.

Hmmm.

Alex typed MonThuThuSat.

The computer pinged at him.

Okay, take two. If he got this wrong, he'd have to call Remy for help and Alex wouldn't give him any more ammunition.

He typed Mon2ThuSat.

The grey screen blinked away to a plain textured desktop completely devoid of short cuts. After a few minutes of exploratory clicking, Alex found the specified folder. Most of them were database documents, page after page of accounting. He groaned. Dammit, Remy _would_ give him all the boring information. Why couldn't he ever process mandates or security camera footage? No, he got bills for office supplies and vacation pay logs.

Grumbling, he set the laptop on his crossed legs, pulled a pad of paper to his left and started number crunching.

* * *

Being angry at Rogue took a lot of effort. Not only did Remy have to constantly remind himself that she'd been a bitch to him but he also had to avoid thinking about that hot dream. For the rest of the week, he tried to avoid touching her as much as possible. He was, by habit, a very tactile person, a characteristic that multiplied when he was around people and things he liked. He'd never noticed how often he reached out to pet Rogue's hair or rub her shoulders in encouragement until he forcibly stopped himself. 

The situation made training... interesting. Fortunately, Rogue was the quickest study he'd ever met. Back in August, when it first occurred to him to teach Rogue to dance, he'd only wanted to loosen her up a bit more to the idea of close contact. Oh, he knew she had to stay careful but some of that skittishness had to drop around him. A lot of jobs occurred in closed in spaces and he couldn't very well have a partner that freaked out when he had to reach over her shoulder. He hadn't expected her to take to dancing like a fish to water, especially knowing ninety percent of the songs on her mp3 player were skinny, angry men with too much make-up who screeched at their daddies for leaving.

"We'll start on the third bar," Remy said, lifting Rogue's hand high and securing her flush against his thighs with his other hand.

Rogue held her head high although he didn't know if that was because of the suppression collar she was testing for McCoy or because she was still pissed at him. "What'll we do if someone asks me to pass a message to you?"

"Stall. I'm an important man, remember and as my apprentice, you're trying to screen my messages." He cocked his head, waiting for the proper beat. "And... back. Two. Three, four, five. Side. Two. Three, four, five. Don't forget your shoulders, three, four, five."

"I guess I should be thankful that you never wore your skeezy, navel-revealing tango shirt," Rogue said as they twirled between two TV trays. No one used the boathouse much this time of the year but Rogue had advanced past completely clear dance floors so Remy placed a few obstacles here and there to make things more difficult.

"I save that navel-revealing to girls I really hate," said Remy, trying to make his tone light. "I make sure to paste a whole lotta hair on my chest too for that authentic bar-lizard look."

Rogue stepped out of rhythm, causing their bodies to collide. Suddenly, he was hyper aware of how close her hips were against his. Flashes of his dream returned and with it, his groin's inevitable reaction. This was just ridiculous. He should be concentrating on Adam, dammit.

"Hey!" Remy snapped. "Concentrate!"

Her eyes widening, Rogue retorted, "I _am_ concentrating!"

"This is one of the most important drops we're going to make and a little more dedication would really help." Taking a calming breath, he said, "Let's try again from the spin--"

"Hey, I'm dedicated as hell," Rogue shot back, stopping entirely, her hands on her hips. "I've been dedicating my sweet tush twenty hours a week to my training and I'm damned good compared to three months ago. If you're mad at me for shouting at you last night, then get mad at me for that, _not_ my training because we both know that I'm kicking ass."

"Your training might be kicking ass but your attitude fucking stinks."

"You're talking to me about attitude?" scoffed Rogue. "This should be good." She jerked back into position.

Gritting his teeth, Remy clenched his hand around Rogue's waist and led her back into the tango. Four bars in, they misstepped again. "God_damn_, Stripes!"

"That was your mistake, not mine!"

"All right already, it's my fault like it always is. Can we move the hell on?"

"Fine."

"Fine."

By the tail end of an _adorno_, Remy couldn't stand the silence any more. He had to find a way to talk to Rogue again without snapping or else he'd go nuts with boredom. Breaking in a friend this late in the game was damn hard and besides, he had to be on good terms with his partner for the drop to actually work.

"This info about Adam sounds like a big breakthrough," he said, hoping to work the pity angle.

"Why don't you and Alex work with Mr. Summers about it?" asked Rogue. "You'll get a lot further if you three worked on it together, you know."

"After everything you seen, haven't you figured out that we work better when we're not working together?"

"That's stupid," said Rogue bluntly. "I'd've given anything to have brothers or sister growing up."

"Funny enough, I did, too." At her questioning stare, Remy said, "I was adopted when I was ten, Sugarplum. Scotty and Alex are full brothers but I've got a different mom. So does Adam. We got him when he was four."

"Oh." It took all of six seconds before her curiosity got the better of her. "I don't get it."

"Our dad got around," he drawled. "He was a navy pilot. Girl in every port and all."

Smirking and trying not to show it, Rogue said, "That explains a lot about you."

Acknowledging the comment with a nod, Remy walked them to the end of the dance floor. "Yeah, he liked the ladies but he went out of his way to look for us and take us in. Pretty good penance, in my opinion."

She stopped the dance and this time he didn't comment. Her narrowed gaze roved all over his face until he felt like he had to say something or else she might stare right through him.

"If you love them that much," she began, faded off and began again, "If you love them that much, why do try to piss them off so badly?"

Doing his best to sound flippant, Remy said, "Because it's fun." Then, because she wouldn't stop staring at him, he added, "They're gonna get pissed off at you anyhow; might as well be for a good reason, right?"

"Remy, that's…" Rogue's forehead crinkled. "That's some kind of twisted but I'm not sure which type yet. Did they tell you what the news was?"

Shaking his head, Remy said, "That's part of the reason why this drop is so important. In exchange for the package, Ms. Manners promised to give us a huge lead. And, more importantly, if one of the mobs or other Guilds had a hand in it, Ms. Manners is offering to give me carte gris."

"Which is?"

"Basically I can act like a freelancer until I get the person responsible."

Rogue whistled. "What are we stealing: a truck of gold bars?"

"Nothing that sexy, Sugarplum." His smile couldn't help but be full of excitement. "It appears Ms. Manners has a bit of a grudge against a company that put two of her people away."

"I thought you didn't do kills."

"I don't. This is a mutually beneficial job. We go in and get blueprints that we need, the building gets blown to smithereens like they need."

While she was busy trying to get her mouth to do anything more than gape, Remy walked them both back to the dance floor, this time to a rhumba.

"Blueprints to the place in Nebraska that had the semen samples?"

"Naw, this one's for another place, an island off the east coast of Africa."

"Adam's in Africa?"

Remy shrugged. "Got no idea why he would be but this whole thing's stunk since summer. Apparently, this Delaware office is the go-between for several biotech companies-- including the one in Nebraska-- to a bunch of places around the Indian Ocean that does cloning research."

Rogue whistled. "Just when I thought being an X-Man couldn't get weirder, they develop a new type of weird."

"They tell me it's a real Cooper." Remy winked. "You're gonna get one hell of an initiation into a big heist. Too bad you don't actually get cash."

"If I wanted cash, I'll just go through your wallet." To Remy's shock and delight, Rogue waved his wallet in front of his nose. A swift check showed that, yes, she _had_ picked his pocket and quite cleanly, too.

"You're way too smug, Stripes, especially for someone who a little over seven weeks ago couldn't tell a blue diamond from a lab-made sapphire."

"It's not every day I get to pick the pocket of a top-notch pickpocket," she said pertly. "Neither is it every night a girl gets to make a total idiot of herself in a New York's dance club just to drop off a package."

Without warning, Remy arched over her, making her bend back then, with their arms clasped over their heads, he used their torsos to draw circles in the air. "More than dancing, Stripes. If the revenge angle don't work, what we're gonna be stealing is gonna guarantee a carte gris in Guilds."

"Information," said Rogue. She flexed her fingers on his shoulder. "I don't have perfect control over it, you know. Just because I hear people that I absorb in my head, it doesn't mean I can just call up information."

"You don't have to. You just have to convince them that you do. And when that happens..." Remy clicked his tongue. "Peaches, you're going to be one of the most powerful people in the East Coast. How bad do you want that?"

"I want it," she said, grinning through her bangs. "I want it bad."

Remy stumbled. Rogue laughed at him.

"What," she asked, "was that?"

"Warped hardwood," he lied.

* * *

Adam still struggled when the sticks came to get him, even the sticks he knew were on their side. It had something to do with face, he thought; Gav and Scalphunter always fought it if the sounds coming from their cells were anything to go by. Besides, Alex and Remy would always fight back. Scott... well, he wouldn't but probably only because he had some sort of plan brewing in the back of his head. 

He came to in a little office. In the far corner, Gav stood on his hands doing upside-down push ups.

"My brother does those," Adam said.

Gav didn't pause as he spoke. "Remy, I presume."

"Yeah." Glancing around the room, Adam asked, "So, what am I supposed to do, boss?"

"The computer before you has the information from the last meeting. We were able to ensure two hours without interference but you must find it all now else we'll not get another chance."

"Geez, no pressure or anything." Adam sat cross-legged in front of a crate which held the computer. In under two minutes, the silence drove him nuts; he'd never done well with solo studying. "Scott taught me to use the computer."

"The eldest," said Gav.

"Yeah. Did I tell you he's a teacher?"

"A teacher for mutants."

"Yeah."

"I bet he totally power trips on being a teacher," said Adam, equal parts fondness and resentment in his tone. "When we were little, he'd boss us around all the time. Even when he moved to New York, he'd call every night and tell us to fax our homework to him and--"

Gav rolled out of his handstand, rising fluidly to walk to Adam's side. One muscle-hewn arm draped around Adam's shoulders.

Adam's breath hitched. "--and, uh, he'd correct them which was fine--"

Gav's other hand snuck down to Adam's thigh, massaging just outside his flank. "Go on."

"Uh... fine." Adam gulped. "The homework. Was fine. Really fine."

"Good. He is a solid brother to have."

"Yeah, I guess." Adam tried to concentrate on the computer but he was getting all hot and bothered by the hand on his leg and Gav's breath warm in his ear. His eyes fluttered. "Um, not that I'm complaining or anything but, um, if you keep doing that, we're going to cut into research time and... oh, hell!"

Gav cupped his crotch. The bodysuits did nothing to dampen the sensation. "Think of it as incentive," the other boy whispered. "The sooner we leave, the sooner we can do this without rush." With that, he slipped back to his corner where he was now doing power crunches.

Sounded good to him. Adam caught his breath and attacked the computer with twice the urgency. Yeah, it was shallow and maybe a really stupid incentive but he'd never felt like this with any other guy. Not that there'd ever been a lot of guys anyway but Gav was just so... wow. He was all secretive and rough on the outside but when they were together, he was _really_ nice and actually listened to his babbling and, oh, hell, he was going back into fantasyland which would really _not_ help out with his assignment but would actually help the lab a lot not that he wanted to help the lab but hey, if they'd just collected his sperm this way the first time around, he might have volunteered for it instead of getting kidnapped which would be less of a headache for everyone concerned especially himself because he still couldn't find whatever it was he had to look for.

"So after we find what we need," said Adam, "what do we do?"

"Escape," said Gav. He rolled over to do side crunches.

Adam rolled his eyes. "No shit, Sherlock. I meant specifics."

"We fight out way out. You, me and others."

"Wait... what? Have you seen the metric assload of guards they have around here with the nifty suppression collar remotes? And bullets, we can't forget the bullets."

"Those will be taken care of," said Gav calmly. "We need only worry about the security information so as to more efficiently escape."

"In what universe is this a good plan?" Adam demanded. "We don't have a map. We don't have weapons. We have no way of communicating. We don't have security codes or any way around them. The only thing we _might_ have are specs on the security and we don't even known how old they are. And we're supposed to escape how?"

"Not every is privy to the entire plan so that we cannot reveal anything when we are questioned," said Gav. "And also, we don't all have to escape. A few will be sacrificed for the whole."

"Great, that makes me feel tonnes better."

"Would you prefer we rot here?" said Gav, his voice as near to an angry hiss as Adam had ever heard it. "You may not care to return to the outside but there are hundreds here who have never had the pleasure of the sun on their faces."

"I never said I didn't want to escape. Just that it's a bad idea to make _me_ one of the escapees. Aren't there other uber-warriors or something out there who can do this instead?"

"No one else has your brothers," Gav said simply. "Without them, we would have no chance of returning to free the others."

Adam opened his mouth to respond but he didn't have anything that could top that. Him and his big, stupid mouth. All this time that he'd been going on and on about Scott and Remy and Alex, he'd thought that Gav was actually interested in his family. In him and what he was saying. Adam knew he wasn't the brightest of the Summers', but he could put a few obvious pieces of a puzzle together. "That's why you started sleeping with me. You wanted my connections for the escape plan and you figured out that I'm gay and desperate and you fucking slept with..."

Gav did his crunches in double time.

"Did you tell Frenzy what I told you about my brothers?"

He didn't answer.

"Did she tell you to fuck me to get my co-operation?"

He was doing his crunches at a ridiculous speed now, sweating rivers and panting.

Tears blinded Adam. "Well, fuck you and the Resistants and the horse you all rode on." He pushed away from the computer, half-tempted to throw the damned thing at him but knowing Gav, he'd probably catch it and pitch it back at his head.

Gav's arm slammed against the door. He was stronger and better at fighting but Adam had untrimmed fingernails and a really bad temper. He gouged into Gav's arms.

"Burn," he whispered. "Burn, burn, burn, burn--"

Only specks of blood rose on the other boy's arm but it was enough for Adam's power to catch. Gav kept his arm stiff, his body shaking with pain as the energized electrolytes travelled up his arm, firing more and more of their kind.

"There are thousands of us here," Gav said quietly. "You would deny them their freedom because you misinterpreted my actions?"

"Yes!" Adam snarled. Then, after a deep breath, "No." He closed his eyes. The fire in Gav's arm died. "You could have just asked me. You didn't have to... Christ, I sound like some... so stupid."

Gav stayed silent.

With slumped shoulders, Adam returned to the laptop on the crate. "So we're looking for security information," he said dully. "I think we'd better look for the actual systems first and then figure out a way around them."


	41. Present Interlude 6

**Present Interlude #6**

* * *

Technology was a broadsword, slicing swaths through history with ease. Unfortunately, like a broadsword, its double edge could injure the wielder as much as the opponent. Essex perused over his IT manager's report, tapping lightly on the surface of his desk. 

"Are you certain of these findings?" he asked in Hindi. The man could speak English very well but Essex wanted to keep his skills fresh. He often picked his supplies from India.

"Yes, sir. We couldn ot find it at first because they tried to worm in from two different points but once they got far enough into the system, we were able to see the connection."

"What did they manage to get?"

The IT manager cleared his throat. "Mainly information from the accounting department. Some business letters between our partners. It is nothing too damaging, sir. Certainly none of the high security files."

"Were you able to track down the culprits?"

"Both are coming from America, sir." He scratched his head. "One from northern New York state and the other from Massachusetts. Strangely, the New York trail seems to have one of your access codes. Like I said, they do not have anything sensitive," he hurried to assure Essex, "but that is the only way he got as far as he did. The rest of this person's work is sloppy at best. We think it might be an amateur that bought code elsewhere."

Essex pondered his next move. "Thank you for your hard work. See to it that this is fixed as soon as possible."

"Yes sir." The man left, thankful that he still had his job.

Moments after the main office door clicked shut, Essex pressed a button on his intercom system. The other line picked up with pleasing quickness.

"Yes sir?"

"Ready a small squad. We need to some neutralisation."

"Yes sir, right away. Where to?"

"Upstate New York."


	42. Bulletless Bodies

**Bulletless Bodies**

* * *

Blue lights and alarms did not bode well in terms of a welcoming committee yet they greeted Scott and Warren as they touched down on the Helicarrier's broad deck. As if being carried wasn't annoying enough; Scott could never quite believe that someone as slim as Warren could hold that much weight aloft. The miracle of mutant physiology struck again. 

"Worried?" Warren asked.

"Does Wolverine bathe?"

"That's a trick question."

Scott's reply was lost in a barrage of megaphone commands. "Arms up! Drop on the floor! Don't move!"

"How are we supposed to drop on the floor and not move?" asked Warren, spreading his wings as far as they would go.

"SHIELD and logic aren't exactly connected."

"Quiet! Identify yourselves!"

Scott rolled his eyes.

"At ease," Fury barked over the din. He clomped past the line of soldiers. Only in the light of the assault rifles did Scott see the discolouration on his cheek. With a few curt hand signals, he sent the small squad away, leaving the three of them in a small clearing.

"Bar fight, sir?" Scott asked, taking a rare, vicious pleasure at the idea of someone planting a firm one in Fury's face.

Fury chomped on his cigar like he wished it was Scott's spinal cord. "When this is over, we're re-negotiating the terms of our association."

"With pleasure."

Falling in line behind Fury, Scott and Warren followed him into the pulse of the commotion inside the Helicarrier. The walls muffled the roar of the jets; Scott shook the ringing from his ears as they walked through a brushed steel warren of passages. Fury explained the uproar along the way.

"Logan escaped."

"I'm amazed he took this long," said Warren. "From what little I know of him, I thought he'd've gone two months ago having taken out half your crew."

Fury snorted. "Logan's good but he's not that good. The only way he could have escaped was if he had help."

The seed of dread in Scott's stomach grew to full blown oak within seconds. He knew what Fury was going to say next.

"We have your kids in lockdown. They're the only ones who had reason to help him."

"This is bull," Warren said, his voice icy. "You told us we could pick them up today and now you've got them on lockdown for supposedly helping someone they're trained to see as their teacher?"

"Those kids aren't hurt." Scott spoke with authority. Fury must know him enough to understand that Scott would repay Bobby and Jubilee' injuries on SHIELD. His temples throbbed with the force of his optic blasts.

Fury spun around, crowding Scott in the narrow hallways. "Our deal is the only thing keeping me from signing a official kill command. That and knowing that their training--" he flicked a glare at Warren-- "doesn't call for anything less. They're my kids now, too."

"They're never going to be your kids," said Scott, doing a little bit of crowding himself.

The kids' cell, partitioned in the back of the airship, buzzed blue light around the seams.

"I kept them together," said Fury. "They're good soldiers. Inventive. Know when to take an order."

Scott nodded, unwilling to take the scraggly olive branch.

The blue light winked out and the doors slid apart in six parts like a camera aperture. Bobby and Jubilee sprang apart much quicker, Bobby wiping his lips guiltily as Jubilee straightened her top.

"Cyclops!" Jubilee, never before at a loss for words, could only open and close her moth soundlessly after spitting out that one name.

This he didn't want to deal with. Better to leave it until they got home. "Leave us alone for a minute," Scott told Fury and Warren.

"The cell's bugged," Fury said.

"Humour me."

Knowing Warren could watch out for them from outside, Scott had no qualms about the cell doors locking shut behind him. "Are you both okay?"

Jubilee traded nervous stares with Bobby. "Yeah, I guess."

"You haven't gotten hurt?" The chance of that happening in this organization was slim to none.

Again the two kids shared secretive looks. "Jubilee got hurt a month ago," Bobby revealed to Jubilee's protesting "I'm fine now!"

Taking a long, calming breath of recycled air, Scott asked, "What kind of hurt?"

Sullenly, Jubilee replied, "It was only a pipe bomb and I wasn't really hit _by_ the bomb, just the fallout and they have Star Trek medicine here so it healed real quick. I can barely even feel it any more."

"She had thirteen staples in her stomach," Bobby countered with obvious agitation. "They had to cut off a piece of her small intestine and sew the two other pieces together."

"But I'm _fine_ now."

"You still have to take medication!" Seeing her sulk, Bobby grabbed Jubilee's hand, stroking her palm with his thumb. "Don't be so stubborn. Cyclops is here; we don't have to worry about being SHIELD any more."

Scott might have heard Jubilee mutter, "Maybe I _liked_ worrying about being SHIELD" but he chose to ignore it. One headache at a time. "What happened with Wolverine?"

Again, the two silently consulted each other before responding. "We didn't do anything to make the alarm go off," said Jubilee, Her careful wording didn't slip past Scott.

"That's good enough for me," he said. "I'll see what I can do to get you out of the hold."

"You can help bring Wolverine back," Fury said as soon as Scott stepped out of the cell.

Lifting a sunny blond brow superciliously, Warren said, "SHIELD needs amateurs to help them take in one man?"

"He put eleven of my guys out of commission; having you two tag along might make up for that."

"No deal," said Cyclops. "Logan's staff at Xavier's. Under our current contract, that protects him from SHIELD arrest. He never should've been taken."

Fury shook his head. "Under the papers you filed, Logan Jones is Xavier's staff not James Logan."

"It's a sad day when you're manoeuvring on technicalities."

"I owe my life to technicalities, son. You bet your sweet ass I'm gonna use it."

Scott crossed his arms. "I think you're forgetting exactly what you're going to lose if you piss us off."

"I'm really not." Fury slapped an attaché into Scott's hands. "You remember the initial army we wanted you to look into? Well, in your absence, a team which included your kids infiltrated the camp."

"Is that where Jubilee's stomach got torn open by debris?"

"Actually, yes." He pulled out his cigar only to wedge it in the other side of his mouth. "They did such a great job, I might not need your help any more. Pity, since I just got some pretty interesting information on a biotech company owned by the country of Genosha."

One of Scott's hands squeezed into a fist. He knew what Fury wanted him to say. He knew it and he hated it but, as always seemed to be the case, his family came before him. "Where do you want me, sir?"

To his credit, Fury didn't show satisfaction outwardly. "Follow me. You gotta suit up and grab a weapon. You--" he nodded at Warren, "-- can stay here with the kids if you want."

"I'm coming with Cyclops," said Warren.

"Not fuckin' likely," said Fury.

Scott shook his head as well. "You're not officially Xavier's staff; you're not under the contract. They're under no obligation to help you out if you're in trouble."

"Worthington Engineering helped build this airship," said Fury. "I think we can spare a couple minutes to save his lily ass if we need to."

Warren began protesting but Scott crossed his arms, pulling rank. "Angel, stay behind and look after Iceman and Jubilee."

His wings snapping closed, Warren nodded. "Whatever you say, Cyclops."

Fury opened a panel in the wall to reveal a small cache of weapons. He waved down three passing SHIELD agents who halted immediately. "Epsilon's waiting for drop off in bay two. Grab a weapon and meet them there."

"I come armed," said Scott.

"I'm not going to explain bulletless bodies to the council."

Picking up a handgun with barely disguised reluctance, Scott pocketed an extra magazine of ammo.

"Do you know how to use that thing?" Fury asked.

"Would I take it if I didn't?" Scott threw back. Passing SHIELD members froze in mid-march, probably waiting for Fury to kick his ass. Scott just kept walking. "Give me thirty minutes, keep your people away from my team and you'll see Wolverine."

Jubilee's eyes widened to dinner plates. "Cyclops, you aren't gonna really give him up, are you?"

Scott didn't answer her. "I want those documents on the Genoshan company in my hands as soon as I hand him over."

"Son, you give us the Wolverine back, preferably gift-wrapped in a dozen little boxes and we'll flip the earth around to find your kid brother."

Now, even Bobby paused uncertainly. "Cyclops?"

"Stay with Angel," Scott told Bobby. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Don't worry, Gamma Gaze," said Warren under his breath. Whispering, he added, "You've officially used up all the stupid we packed up."

The chopper flew low over the forest canopy, dipping to the right at Scott's command. He gripped the nylon straps hanging from the roof of the chopper, his eyes trained on the portable monitor tracking Logan's cuff. He didn't know if Logan could grow a leg back but that's what it would take to get rid of SHIELD's tracking cuff. According to Fury, it wasn't made of solid adamantium but threads of the stuff wove through the casing. At the very least, it would take him a long time to saw through.

There. They were right on top of him. Scott yanked at the first guy on his team, Epsilon-1. The agent gave him a thumbs up, secured his parachute and jumped out. The three others jumped out behind him; Scott dove out last. They'd land a couple yards ahead of Logan's current course, not that he'd keep going in the direction. He'd probably veered off as soon as he heard the chopper stand still. Scott was relying on that.

He landed, legs still cycling, just past a small waterfall. The current whipped his chute downstream; Scott zapped the straps off with his optic blasts. The three SHIELD agents were already on the move, coursing into the woods in a standard capture formation. Scott only felt the slightest twinge of guilt as he watched them fall into their own trap.

Epsilon-3, who'd gone east by northeast, disappeared in a shuffle of branches. Epsilon-2 and 1 opened fire into the offending bush but Logan was already long gone. Cocking his head to one side, Scott let his peripheral vision take over, slowing scanning for strange movements even as bullets ripped through defenceless foliage.

There.

He braced his legs, took aim and fired five times in quick succession. Then again a few yards to the right. The Epsilons got the general idea, splitting up around Scott's target area. Epsilon-1 got as far as the thickest tree trunk before Logan reached out to ram him into the tree.

Epsilon-2 all but emptied his magazine in Logan's direction but he was too fast. Logan dove for his legs, whipping out one arm to slice the gun into four neat pieces. Grunting with Logan's weight, Epsilon-2 rolled on his back and kicked out, batting Logan away. Logan arced backwards, falling against a thick tree trunk with a sharp exhalation. He righted himself immediately and took a fighting stance.

"You really think you can turn me in, Cyclops?"

Scott kept his hand on his firearm. "I promised."

"I don't even remember what they want me for," said Logan. "Half the things on that rap sheet-- I'd have to be some sort of psycho to pull off. And be at least fifty years old."

"Healing factors are great for wrinkles and grey hairs."

Snarling, Logan leap out, claws extended. Scott dodged easily, firing three bullets into his arms, keeping those lethal claws away. Behind Logan, shaking his dizziness away, Epsilon-2 went up on a crouch and aimed his second firearm at Logan's head.

Bits of Logan splattered on Scott's visor. He caught the other mutant neatly, staggering a little with the unexpected weight of the adamantium.

"Call Fury," he told the SHIELD agent. "Hurry, before he heals."

"He can heal from a bullet to the head?"

"Do you really want to find out?"

Nodding, Epsilon-2 activated his microphone. The optic blast hit him so suddenly, he didn't even see it.

Scott made sure the SHIELD agent wasn't hurt too badly then he went through the agent's pockets, coming up with a thumb-sized digital key before returning to Logan's unconscious body. The entry wound was already closing up; he needed to do this quickly. Turning Logan on his back, Scott pressed the muzzle of the gun against Logan's shoulder and fired three shots in close proximity to each other. Logan's metal-encased skeleton peered through shattered muscles and tendons. Before the ends of Logan's flesh knitted together, he pressed the digital key into the cut.

Logan came to with a sudden deep intake of air. His arm snapped up, nearly throwing Scott off.

"Take it easy," Scott said as though he were changing a light bulb instead of knuckling through blood.

Glaring at him in accusation, Logan said, "You shot me!"

"Several times," said Scott. "You'll get better."

He growled.

"Concentrate. You have to heal around this key instead of expelling it." Scott gritted his teeth and pushed the digital key further into the open bullet wound until it thunked against bone. "When you get back to the Helicarrier, just cut it out, get out of the cell and find your way back to the school. As long as you're on campus, SHIELD can't touch you."

Logan grunted, his nostrils flaring as his body protested against the intrusion. "You're enjoying this."

"Not at all." But the corners of Scott's mouth tilted up.

"What are you gonna do about that guy?" Logan jerked his chin at the Epsilon-2.

"Hopefully, he's got a concussion and won't remember the last couple minutes. You woke up, threw me off and knocked him out before I subdued you again."

Rolling his eyes, Logan said, "Can't I just come down with a bad case of the shits at the wrong time? It's a lot better than being caught by you. Twice."

"I could implant this up your--"

"Forget it."

* * *

At certain points of a research project, Alex got into what his friends called the "Batcave Mode." His world telescoped into the material, the laptop and the click-click-click of his brain turning ideas over. This was why he loved working in Hank's lab, or rather, an alcove in Hank's lab. Academic enthusiasm permeated through every wall. 

His real homework lay upstairs in his room, still stuffed in its bag. The grades would have to wait another semester; the horizon shimmered with a breakthrough. Literally. Liberal applications of blue-tac held up print outs and photographs, interspersed with post-it notes and marked with highlighters, a madman's wallpapers. Only Alex could have made sense of the complete mess but even he was stumped. This jigsaw puzzle didn't want to fit together.

Hank poked his head through the wall, his fur standing on end in perturbation. "I've just finished running that DNA sample Remy gave you," he said.

"Thanks," said Alex. Remy had dropped a small cooler with six vials of stuff six days ago, citing the Guild as a source before flitting off with Rogue again to do God only knew what types of larceny. "Let me help you match it up in the database."

"No. I've done that as well." His voice sounded strange.

"Whose is it?" Alex asked immediately. "It's Adam's, isn't it?"

"Not Adam," Hank replied. "I think I'd best show you just to make sure I haven't gone mad."

Mystified, Alex followed him out into the medlab where DNA electropherograms and band sequences spilled out of the printer. Picking up one end of the paper roll, he perused the contents. Wiggle, wiggle, spike, spike, wiggle. Very informative.

"Look at this." Hank shoved a few more readouts under Alex's nose. "The top page is the DNA sample you gave me."

"And the others?" But Alex had already spotted the names underneath it. Summers, Scott. He flipped the page. Summers, Remy. Summers, Alex. He'd given Hank a buccal sample the other day. The last one was Summers, Christopher. "Unfreaky translation, please?"

Snatching the top and the bottom readouts, Hank superimposed them and held them out to the light. "It matches exactly," he said. "Alex, the sample from the Guilds is your father's DNA. Specifically, they're from his gametes."

"Whohah?"

"His sperm."

An up-check reflex shook his throat. "Why would the Thieves' Guild have a sample of my dad's sp-spe-sprah--" His tongue refused to form the word. "His DNA?"

"More importantly, why would the companies you're researching have a sample of your dad's DNA. And where did they get it?"

"Not to mentioned when."

"When I can answer. These samples are well preserved but some degradation is still visible. I estimate that they are twenty to thirty years old."

"That is just all types of wrong." Alex stared at the readouts. Something about the coloured stripes in the DNA sequence tapped this memory; he had to bring up an image of the walls of his workroom. "Hang on." Readout in hand, he ran to the room. Where was it, where was it, where was-- there! "Galton, Davenport and Associates; I tracked them down through Remy's FBI file."

Hank, who'd followed close, peered at the two images. "What does this company purportedly do?"

"It's apparently a European investment firm." Flipping through the pinned papers, he added, "I remember something kind of funny about their accounts. It's always exactly on budget, has been since its inception."

"Curious. Most businesses report a loss in the first three years."

"They some had losses, but it follows the pattern too well. It's like someone put these numbers through a program." Alex finally found the right stack. "Here. It hasn't increased or decreased in size, it's still run by the same twenty people. The website was nice. There was a connection to..." He scanned the wall again. "French private citizen named Genevieve Darceneaux, a freelance jewel thief. The Guilds had to move some of her merchandise which apparently came from the vaults of a GDA. exec. She helped herself to a bit more of the cut than they agreed on which didn't please the Guilds too much. This is a record of what the Guild was supposed to trade the jewels for." Alex tapped another section of the wall. "Food and survival supplies for a staff of three hundred to an import-export company in Genosha. Where the hell is Genosha?" Distractedly, asking the question to himself more than Hank, Alex dove back into his laptop.

Briefly removing and cleaning his glasses, Hank said, "As entertained as I am, the convolutions in this plot are such that were Brad Pitt and George Clooney to pop in with Inspector Poirot fast on their heels, I would not at all be surprised. To answer your question, Genosha is an island off the coast of Madagascar. It was recently on the news for a heretofore unknown lemur species. Also a brilliant source of vanilla."

Alex blinked at him and Hank shrugged.

"Lemurs are quite interesting in terms of evolutionary biology," said Hank. "Separated from Africa around the time of the great dinosaur extinction, they represent one of the oldest primate forms. Keeping their habitats has become a priority especially since these islands are so specialised. I'm surprised that there are such companies in Genosha; as far as I know, they are a primarily agricultural country."

"Okay, so Genosha." Alex hopped around desk then curled around his laptop. "Come on, sweet thing. Tell Daddy everything he needs to know."

One of Hank's brows cocked up. "Should I leave you and the laptop alone?"

"Probably. It's gonna get kinky soon; I'm gonna go Boolean."

"My oh my. If you need further aid in cybertronic inequity and lasciviousness, I'll be in my office wondering what in heaven's name your father put in his Wheaties to produce such singular children."


	43. Past Interlude 15, San Antonio, TX, 1988

**Past Interlude #15: San Antonio, Texas -1988**

Some nights, Remy walked through the house instead of sleeping. He knew how to walk so he didn't wake anyone up.

First, he'd go through the main floor, open the fridge and stare at it. The air that came out was so nice and cool and he knew he didn't have to ask for permission to get somethin. He liked the little drawing of skulls and crossbones tucked over Dad's beer cartons and said "Touch and DIE!!!" in thick, black marker. He liked that there were three types of juice and one of them had real pulp in it 'cause it was made with real fruit instead of the powdered stuff. He liked Tupperware the best, how Mrs. Jaworski-- she was so hot for Dad, he was tempted to just lock 'em in a room together-- labelled each one with their names and how his name was starting to fade a little just like Scott and Alex's Tupperware. He opened and closed each drawer and cupboard, the dishwasher, too. Then he lay on the linoleum floor, spread eagle, and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes before going to the dining room.

Once there, he pulled out his chair. He'd sit there for a while, hands on either side of an invisible plate, recalling past conversations like that time Alex threw a spoonful of peas at him and Scott threw another spoonful back at Alex in retaliation then how Dad started off with the corn and pretty soon the entire table was a mess. Or the time when Scott told announced that Remy got into a fight with a sixth grader and Dad said he was going to march right down to the office and tell off the principal for letting older kids beat up younger ones then broke out the ice cream to make everyone feel better.

It was off to the living room after that. Remy traced each word on the video cassettes, mouthing the titles to himself and revelling in the knowledge that he wouldn't have to return these to the library or the next door neighbour and he wouldn't get in trouble for forgetting to rewind them unless Alex started whining. He'd run his hands over all the little knick knacks around the room, remembering a thousand little factoids about each item. Dad bought that one back from Hawaii. Scott made that in kindergarten. Those were from Scott and Alex's mom. That was from Alex's godmother who had really bad taste in lampshades but they needed the light and besides, it made for a great conversation starter.

He stared at all the pictures. He wanted to make sure that he still looked like them, that it wasn't a trick of the light

He'd peek into the laundry room, still unable to believe that some people actually had whole washers and dryers inside their house instead of having to walk down the street to the coin laundry. The little powder-smelling sheets of paper were the best. Scott said they were to keep your clothes from getting electric and Alex had shuffled along the carpet, making himself electric anyway and then they'd all had a zapping fight.

The only place he didn't go into was Dad's office. Dad told them it was off-limits. That didn't stop Scott and Alex from going in but Remy just knew that if he tried it, he'd be back in New Orleans. He'd get kicked out eventually, of course, but this was a pretty good gig so far and he waned to stay on as long as possible.

Instead of the office, he went back upstairs. He inspected the bathroom in the same way as the living room. Alex's bedroom was closest. Remy opened the door a crack-- he oiled the hinges every few days-- and crawled in. Crouched beside Alex's bed, he'd listen to his brother breathe a few times then tiptoed around, touching all his toys. The other night, he'd pocketed one; it was just a broken little Transformer that Alex wouldn't miss and Remy liked knowing he had it.

Then, he'd go into his Dad's room. Sometimes it was locked but Remy easily picked that with a thin screwdriver. The tricky part was making sure Dad wasn't humping someone when he snuck in. One time, he almost opened the door but the girl screamed just then, making Remy run for his room. He couldn't open many things in Dad's room either; he slept really lightly. So Remy simple walked around the room, hand trailing across the furniture before standing at the foot of the bed to watch Dad sleep a while. Once he found a coin that fell out of Dad's wallet so he kept that.

Finally, he went into his and Scott's room. He'd touch everything again, almost petting the toys that were his exclusively, then scanning the many book titles on Scott's shelves. He opened one of the dresser drawers where Scott kept all his awards, took one and return the one he'd gotten the night before. He went into his closet, felt for each column of cotton or denim and tried not to rattle the clothes on plastic hangers.

Only then would he finally go to bed, cocooned in blankets, his treasures tucked under his pillow.


	44. That Damned Bullseye

**That Damned Bullseye**

Adam found one other beef with his cell: it didn't have doors. Doors would have muffled sounds like, oh, say that user, GA-V-DRA7, who didn't think there was anything wrong with screwing someone to get what they wanted. Jesus, didn't the guy ever learn the word "please"? Adam would have been just as willing to volunteer his brothers' help without the blow jobs.

Okay, the blow jobs were _nice_ but still...

"I do not understand your anger," said Gav. Props to him, he really did sound confused. Maybe growing up in a tank stripped him of logic. "There was no harm in our having sex; in fact, it was mutually beneficial. You did not find fault with the way that I su--"

Adam threw a purloined screw at the opening. The force field blasted it to smithereens. "Say it a little louder, Gav! I don't think they heard you in the Pits." Thank God Scalphunter was out of commission or just outside his cell.

"People know we have had sex. It is quite common to have sex here, as I've told you before."

"_People_ know we were-- Which people? Since when?" Adam wind-milled his arms. "Okay, now you officially suck."

"I thought I _was_ sucking although I am not certain how it became officiated."

"Now you're joking about it?"

"I am?"

"Fuck you."

"But you have expressed disinterest in fucking me."

He gave up. Adam smacked his head against the wall. It figured his first boyfriend would be a sociopath.

"I wish you were still interesting in fucking me," said Gav in a conversational tone. "I found our sex very enjoyable."

Ignore him, Adam told himself. Ignore him and maybe he'd stop and then he, Adam, could also stop with the eyes burning and the stomach clenching and the aching under his ribs that made it hard to breathe.

"What must I do in order to have sex with you again?" Gav asked.

Adam's lungs seized. "What?"

"What must I do in order to have sex with you again? As I said, I found it very enjoyable and would like to continue doing so for as long as we are mutually interested. You are unlike others that I have had sex with."

"I can't believe I'm having this-- what do you mean unlike the others?"

He heard Gav moving, maybe doing more push ups or sit ups or whatever other exercise that he seemed to be obsessed with. "I am not certain. You aren't the gentlest nor the roughest. Neither are you the first virgin I have had sex with. We do not have sex often and when we do, it does not stray from the typical homosexual experiences. We have not even penetrated each other with our penises; I am quite certain I would have introduced penetration soon if you were still interested."

Could people actually die embarrassment or was it just a side effect of trying to drill your head through the floor in an effort of disappear? Adam didn't know for sure but he wanted to try. "So if I'm not any of those, what am I?"

"Different," Gav said simply. "I do not know what it is. You are different and having sex with you is different. Is this why people in the outside get married?"

Adam sank his head between his arms. "You're psycho. You're certifiable and I think it's contagious."

"I'm afraid I do not understand."

"Join the club."

"But you do not have a club nor a place to hide it."

That made Adam crack a smile. "Gav, when we get out of here, I've got to introduce you to TV."

"I have heard of TV," Gav said, not sounding too interested. "I cannot see the attraction to passively viewing the world when hands-on experience would be much more worthy of note."

The confidence in his voice sent a throb of nerves in Adam's stomach. "You always sound so excited about the... y'know, the thing. With the meetings."

Gav made a sound that was as close to laughter as he could muster. "Indeed. I cannot wait for the day when we are no longer prisoners."

"You could get hurt."

"Compared to what happens here?" Gav's right brow rose. "I would suffer a hundred thousand more times if it means that I will have a chance at freedom."

And that was that.

"I can't do this," Adam said, giving up on chutzpah. "I'm going to mess up with flying colours and the plan's going to fail and we're all going to die."

"You will not," said Gav. "You cannot."

"How do you know?"

"I know." Gav sounded like Moses when he said things like that but Adam needed more convincing.

"_How_ do you know? You barely know me compared to someone like Scalphunter and he's never been to any of the meetings." Then it struck him. "Oh yeah, my connections. We can't forget those."

Gav's exercise sounds stopped. "True, I only spoke with you initially because of your connections. I also admit that I initiated sex with you to reinforce your loyalty to us and our cause."

_Not_ making him feel better, Adam thought snidely.

"But I have noted in you a growing quality that many do not have, even those who lead our cause."

"Gullibility?" Adam suggested.

"No." Gav's head scraped against the wall as he shook it. "I do not know the word for it but I see it in every opponent in the Pit that I know I will have difficulty defeating."

Warmth seeped back into Adam's bones even as he told himself not to believe in anything Gav said. "Bullshit. You always kick my ass in the Pits."

"When you first came, you entered the pits, rolled over and gave up," said Gav. "Now you face us fearlessly and never stop fighting even with the knowledge that because you are poorly trained, you are ultimately doomed. It is a most admirable trait."

Aw, hell. The warmth turned into full blown pride. Adam sat up straighter. His words almost made Adam want to forgive him.

"It makes me want to have more sex with you."

* * *

What it boiled down to, Alex surmised after hours of googling and phone calls from campus, was the complete lack of information on Genosha. It was like the place didn't really exist. A few articles popped up on the ejournals, the most recent published in the late eighties, but they all had the same descriptive phrases: unique ecology, organic vanilla beans, limestone formations, limited population. Genosha appeared to be independently ruled with few contacts to continental Africa. Outside of that, the articles stayed frustratingly non-specific. 

Pressing his thumbs into his eyes, Alex decided to call it a day. He actually _did_ have a lecture to go to and no matter how crappy the geology department at Pace, he had to finish off his degree. With a final gulp of coffee, he packed up his laptop and left the library.

He hadn't gone further than the courtyard when a buzzing hit the back of his neck, the buzz that screamed at him to duck behind a dumpster because someone was going to shoot him in the back Right Now. Alex hitched the jacket collar up instead. As he entered the lecture hall, he felt for the shoulder holster he'd started wearing when he agreed to move to Xavier's temporarily.

The buzz returned as soon as the class ended. Taking a deep breath, Alex walked on. He was just going home. He'd taken the train to and from school for two months now and nothing had happened. Just because it seemed like people were dodging away from his gaze every time he turned his head, it didn't mean that someone was going to launch a missile into the subway. The problem would be when he got outside and there was nothing to duck behind.

Alex hitched his backpack closer to his body.

The train eased to a stop to the tune of synthetic bells. At least fifteen other people exited at the Salem Center Station with Alex: three men in business suits, one woman in yuppie trendy, a grandmother and her little granddaughter and a whole slew of fellow students in jeans, jackets and backpacks. Alex trailed behind, watching everyone head for the stairs at various speeds. He wished he paid more attention to the stop before; he couldn't remember if he'd seen these people before.

The bus stop was three blocks up and two blocks to the right. Little cafes, laundromats, fast food joints and dollar stores lined the streets, knowing they'd have easy cash with the thousands of students milling to the mall every day. He jostled elbows with dozens of people who wouldn't make eye contact. That buzz wasn't going away.

"Alex, right?" A girl came up to him, vaguely familiar. "You're in Dharmaratna's seminar?"

"Yeah," said Alex, briefly scanning behind her.

"You usually sit at the front of the class."

"I was just... I was thinking of a project that I'm running late on. Roomates, y'know."

The girl rolled her eyes. "You've got annoying roommates, too? I swear, sometimes living on yoru own isn't worth the trouble. I've always managed to attract that crazies. Just last year, I was--"

Alex turned out her prattling, although he was painfully aware of how loud she talked. He might as well hook up a microphone and loudspeaker every time she said his name. The sea of jeans and hooded jackets trudged closer to the series of Victorian heritage building that the consciously cute city of Salem had annexed as a shopping strip.

"--so I finally said, that's it! I wasn't going to take it any more so I--"

A car zoomed by close enough to spray Alex's ankles with water. In dodging it, he bumped into someone else, garnering an irritated look.

"-- and what is that thing with futons now? I can't find any that fit with my furniture--"

A man in a dark blue jacket ploughed into his side. Alex spun around, mouth open to deliver a vulgarity-laden warning but the person blended along with the other dark-coloured jackets. Someone else slammed into his right, once again melting into the crowd.

"-- not like last night where I totally burned pasta and my roommate was like, who burns pasta? And I was like--"

Then there it was, a sound like an angry band member smacking a snare drum with all his strength. An icy jolt hit his bicep and quickly burst into a burning sensation down to his wrist and up to his neck. Gasping, Alex clutched at his arm. The person in front of him stumbled as well, knocking a few people to the side as he went down.

"Hey, watch it!" said the girl who had approached him. Her eyes grew wide as headlights. "Omigosh, you're bleeding!"

Before Alex could say anything, more shots rang out. The crowd, screaming, spread in a panicked mass, ducking behind any available shelter.

"Run!" he told the girl but she was way ahead of him, diving underneath a pick-up truck. Alex rolled behind her, grunting when his injured shoulder hit the concrete. Shrugging off his backpack, he moved to unbutton his jacket.

"You have a cell phone?" he asked the girl. She nodded, still babbling inanely. "Hey, shush… hey! Listen to me. Listen! Call 911. Tell them there's a shooter with a semi-automatic weapon firing at a crowd. Give them the intersection. Tell them that he looks like a professional and to come in prepared to use whatever force is necessary, got it?"

"Uh-huh."

Alex peered over the top of the truck's cargo bed. A shot zinged over his head. Alex fell flat on the road, his heart jumping like water in a deep fryer. Holy shit! They really _were_ after him!

The girl tugged on his arm. "The cops said they're coming. They want to talk to you."

"Not right now," said Alex. His brain was starting to kick into fight mode. That meant that he had to figure out what to do before the red bullrage swept over his eyes and he ran out from behind this pickup like Sylvester Stallone character.

Item one: The gunman knew where he was which meant that he'd been following him.

Item two: The gunman shot at Alex when he peeked which meant he must be somewhere on the other side of the truck. He'd been really lucky to choose this car.

Item three: The gunman must be pretty far off to miss him on the second shot. That meant he was on a rooftop or in building somewhere.

"Tell the cops it's a possible sniper," said Alex.

"They want to talk to you," she insisted.

Alex ignored her. The shoulder holster pressed against his ribs. He patted it. Shit, shit, shit, shit! His heart was beating faster than when he'd initially been shot.

Taking a deep breath, Alex squeezed his gun again. Then he ran out from behind the pickup. Vaguely, he heard the girl screaming at him but he was too focused on putting his left foot in front of his right. Left, right, left, right until he was standing in the middle of an empty sidewalk with his arms spread open.

"What the hell do you want?" he shouted. Spinning around, he screamed again. "I'm here, fuckers! What do you want, huh? You want to get at me and my brothers? Fine! Just take your goddamn shot and stop fucking around, you mother-fucking fuckmooks!"

Nothing happened.

Alex turned around again. "Come on!" He yelled loud enough to scratch his throat. "Come on! Come get me!"

He spun to face the opposite direction. "I'm right here, you fucking idiots! Shoot already! Assholes! Fuckers! You take pot shots at bystanders but you don't have the balls to shoot me! Shoot me already! Shoot me! Shoot--"

A bullet slammed into his left shoulder. Alex went down, his head cracking against the sidewalk.

* * *

The hanging halogen lamps cast dewy shadows in the kitchen, turning the usually cheery room into something vaguely Hitchcockian. Rogue sat on one of the bar stools, wrapped in a thick bedrobe, her hands curled around a large mug of tea. Remy smiled despite his weariness. She returned the smile, a little too cautiously, Remy realised. 

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," she replied, her legs swinging, a nervous habit. She had adorable feet, splay-toed with perfect little oval nails painted dark green and, whoa, he was not going there.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" he said instead, fighting valiantly to keep tamp down the image of her curled up in bed.

"I couldn't sleep," she said. Taking a deep breath, Rogue turned on the bar stool to face him fully. "Remy, are you still mad at me?"

Whatever it was he thought she was going to say, this wasn't it and so Remy responded accordingly. "Huh?"

She curled her shoulders around the mug, staring into its depths. "You've just been so... I don't know. Yesterday was our movie day and you had a date. And you had another one tonight. You never come up to visit my room or the study and when we practice it's..." She released a sigh. "Go-time's in a day and I'm not comfortable with us doing a job and being... I was just wondering if you were still mad at me and if I apologize, we can be friends again." Peeking out from between her white bangs, Rogue asked, "We _are_ still friends, right?"

"Peaches." Helpless, Remy didn't know what to say. If he told the truth, she'd really know what a sick bastard he was. There was a difference, he knew, between joking about his carousel love-life and being part of it. Women were women and family was family and Rogue was... well, she was family, wasn't she?

"I had no right to get into your business like that," she continued. "Even if I had a point-- and I did-- I shouldn't've shouted at you like that and I'm sorry."

Remy blinked. "Okay."

She nodded curtly, looking at him in an expectant manner. He had no idea what she was waiting for.

"Well?" Rogue's feet began tapping out a staccato beat on the barstool.

"Whuh?" Damn, he was eloquent today. Remy made a mental note to ram his head into the nearest wall as soon as this was all over.

Not quite slamming her mug down, Rogue hopped off the bar stool, muttering, "Forget it. This was a lousy idea. I'm going to kill Pete--"

Unwilling to be at odds with her for the eighth day straight, Remy took three giant strides to her side and swept her up in a hug. After a second, she folded her arms around his back, too and gave a quick squeeze. There. _That_ was what was right in the world.

"I thought you were really, _really_ mad at me," Rogue mumbled into his shirt front.

"Would that have been so bad?"

"Yes."

Something in Remy's chest clutched. "I ain't mad at you, Sugarplum. I don't think I could ever stay mad at you for long."

Rogue tipped her chin up, her expression sardonic. "It's 'cause of my bright, bubbly personality, right?"

"Something like that."

"So, are you gonna tell me why you were so tetchy?"

He shrugged the question off. "Don't worry about it."

"I'm your partner right? Partners are closer than wives." She lowered her hand from his cheek only to wind her gloved fingers around his.

Remy sighed, rubbing the nape of his neck. How the hell was he going to handle this? Just go out and admit he was turning into a dirty old man? He squeezed her tight, just for a second, then let go. "Maybe... maybe I should've made a different test. Something involving breaking to Worthington's room instead. Or better yet, a little trip to the city to pinch a something from MOMA's storage rooms."

Rolling her eyes, Rogue said, "I guess that's Remy for 'It's all cool'."

What could he say to that? Nothing really, so Remy just tugged at her hair again. "This all made me think though: maybe you need to have time with your actual classmates. It' _is_ a little weird, y'know, you hanging out with a geezer like me. People are starting to talk."

"You're hardly doddering," said Rogue. "And since when have you cared what other people think?"

"It's your fault," he teased. "You're my Jiminy Cricket. I should've consulted with you before going out on my date tonight."

"Uh-oh," she said, peering at him mischievously from under her white bangs. "You're right; you're home before morning. That's not a good sign."

"The date was... meh," said Remy, shrugging out of his suit jacket. He took the tea from her and sipped at it, grimacing a little at the tepid temperature.

"Definitely not a good sign." She climbed on the countertop, leaving the chair for him and swinging her legs on either side of his. He patted her knee. "At least a bad date is memorable. Something 'meh' means something boring which means you can't even remember her name, can you?"

Remy stroked his chin. "I'm pretty sure it was Rose. Or Lily. Gardenia? Something about a flower." He poured the remainder of the tea from the pot into the now-communal tea mug.

"You're awful," said Rogue. "I'd curse you on behalf of woman-kind but I have a feeling I'm going to have too much fun snarking. Tell me everything. Where did you meet her?"

"Not worth repeating, Stripes. I didn't get any and we talked about taxes."

"You say much sweeter things in my dreams," said Rogue casually.

Remy's brain stuttered. "You dream about me, Sugarplum?" he managed. "I'm flattered."

Although her cheeks flared pink, she didn't duck her head in as she would if she was really embarrassed. "What do you expect? We're around each other all the time. I'd have dreams about a... a... a toaster if I spent the same amount of time with it."

Remy put a hand to his heart. "You really know how to hurt a man, Stripes." Then, because the devil on his shoulder was screeching in his ear, he asked, "What kind of dream?"

Now she ducked her head down.

A grin broke out on his face. "Oh _that_ kind of dream."

"Shut up."

"I really am flattered, Peaches."

"Going to kill you."

"Really."

"Remy! Drop it!" she wailed. "I don't know why I always open my big fat mouth when I'm around you. You've got to have the mutant power of making people vomit information."

He shrugged, his chest lighter than it had been for weeks. "If it makes you feel better, I've dreamt about you, too."

Peeking at him from under her lashes, Rogue asked, "What kind of dream?"

"I'll tell you if you tell me," he countered. As she opened her mouth mutinously, he said, "I asked you first."

"I answered."

"No, you didn't. You reacted and I guessed."

"Remy!"

"Partners share everything."

"Hate. You." Covering her face with her hands, Rogue finally burbled, "Weeramakinawt."

Remy pulled her sleeves down. "What was that again?"

"Werermakinout."

"I'd understand you better if you weren't drinking at the same time."

Rogue punched his arm, hard. "We were making out, okay! I dreamed we were making out. Kill me." She smacked his sides few more times for good measure.

Grinning like an idiot, Remy tucked her head under his chin and stroked her back, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding back his laughter.

"Don't laugh at me."

"I'm not."

"Are too."

"Am not." He pulled away so he could see her eyes. "I'm not laughing at you; I'm laughing at me. My dream was real similar and for weeks, I thought I was turning into those losers who stalk high schools for an easy lay when all this time, it's just like you said: we're around each other so much, it's kinda natural that we dream things like that."

Understanding lit Rogue's face up. "Hence the constant dating."

"Spot on, Sugarplum."

Her grin matched his. "Was I good?"

"Fantastic."

"Yeah? On a scale of Joan Rivers to Angelie Jolie?"

"At least a Selma Hayek with a splash of Keira Knightly for cute," he said, crossing his heart. "What about me?"

"On a scale of Carrot Top to Brad Pitt?" At his nod, Rogue said, "At least a Travis Fimmel with a healthy dose of George Clooney smoothness."

Remy preened as she chuckled over his vanity. "With dreams like that, we should never make out just in case the reality can't hold a candle to the dream, huh?"

"I guess not."

Tucking a tangled loop of hair behind her ear, Remy started to make a flip rejoinder but Rogue turned her head into his hand just at that moment. Pins and needles sizzled up his arm. Remy jerked back reflexively.

"Sorry!" she cried out, slapping a hand to her hair. He could see that light dying out, the discomfort settling in again and he couldn't let that happen.

"It's okay. It didn't hurt." He touched her cheek again, for a full two counts this time. "See? You just got to concentrate. Tell your body to stop."

"It didn't," said Rogue flatly.

"But someday, it will." He couldn't find anything to say after that, at least nothing that wouldn't sound trite or forced. He just stood between her legs, hands on her knees, cautiously meeting her eyes. If he could will her to believe his words, he would have. This close up, he could see little green flecks in her eyes and the line where her lips went from pink to a deep rose.

"When it does," Rogue said, nervously licking those lips, "we can really tell if you're George Clooney or CarrotTop."

And with that, thankfully, the spell was broken. Remy covered his face with a hand, leaning against the counter with the other as he tried not to laugh too loud. He felt Rogue shaking beside him, her giggles interspersed with snorts.

"Bed!" Remy ordered, pointing to the door. "Shoo! Before I tell Munroe that you've been staying up past curfew."

"You would _not_!" She narrowed her eyes at him. "If you tell her that, I'll just say that it's your idea half the time."

"Don't test me, Peaches." A lazy grin worked its way back to his lips. "Munroe sleeps in the buff, y'know. I could enjoy waking her up."

Huffing, Rogue slipped off the countertop and put away her cup. "Just when I think I might start liking having you around, you go and mention teachers and nudity in the same sentence."

"Just doing my best to give psychologists jobs." He handed her his cup which she also drained and racked in the dishwasher but only after a brief argument about chores and laziness which Remy won again by virtue of his rank.

"See you at breakfast," Rogue said, finally comfortable enough again to tap Remy's arm.

"Only if breakfast's served at noon," Remy replied

"Lazybones."

"Go to _bed_, Stripes."

Muffling her laughter, Rogue tiptoed out of the room and up the stairs. Remy slowly followed her and was almost at the stairwell when the phone rang. The caller display flashed the name of a hospital on the emergency line. His stomach began churning as he picked up the receiver.

"Hello, Xavier's School for Gifted Children. How can I help you?"

"This is Detective Messer, Salem PD. An Alexander Summers gave us this number as an emergency contact."

Remy's knuckles went white. "I'm family. Alex is my brother. Is he okay?"

Up in the second stairwell, Rogue paused and looked down worriedly over the railing.

"He's just come out of surgery here at Clifton Trauma Center. Would you please come down so we can explain everythi-- hello? Sir? Hello?"

Remy was already out the door.

* * *

_Sorry it took so long. I had midterms. I'm going to have lab reports and various projects going on as well as finals near the end of April so the chapters will be going up slow. Also, I have to buy myself time to finish writing Part IV ;) Thanks to everyone who's still hanging in there! I promise the bes tis yet to come._

_ Wow, that last line sounded corny.  
_


	45. Past Interlude 16, Everett, WA, 1994

**Past Interlude #16: Everett, Washington - 1994**

* * *

Smoke hung in the air of the emergency room. Alex felt a little useless hanging onto Adam while paramedics dashed through the automatic doors bearing stretcher after stretcher of victims from an apartment fire. He heard about it on the radio while Scott was driving to the hospital. 

"I want milk," Adam whined, not even bothering to hide his crankiness any more.

Alex searched his pockets for change and, finding barely enough coins, stood to look for a vending machine.

"Where are you going?" Scott demanded.

"Adam's thirsty. I'm going to get him some milk."

"Take him with you. If we get called, he'll be by himself."

"We can take him with us," Remy said. Blood stained his fingers, darker and slightly brown now because of the wait. Alex tried not to imagine what the cut looked like under that make-shift bandage. He'd seen how much blood spurted in the living room. He tried to concentrate on getting angry about the clean-up but that didn't work too well.

A muscled nurse marched in the waiting room, calling out "Summers, Remy" in an accented, weariness-roughened voice.

Scott shot to his feet, his arm around Remy's shoulders, not quite helping but unwilling to let go. Adam grabbed Alex's hand. Alex didn't protest. He wasn't scared, not exactly. It was just that he knew Remy didn't like hospitals. He was graceful enough never to need one but still, the fact that Remy hadn't even tried to escape the emergency room freaked Alex out.

"I want milk," Adam said again, quieter but more urgent.

"In a second," said Alex.

The nurse showed them into a curtained cubicle. Remy's breathing quickened as soon as the curtains clattered closed, lending only the faintest illusions of privacy.

"You okay?" Scott asked for what had to be the billionth time.

Remy nodded but the edges of his mouth were white and so were his knuckles on his good hand where he clutched at the bed.

"We'll be out soon."

Another nod.

"I need to get milk for Adam," said Alex even though his baby brother was now pressed against his leg, doing an incredible impression of a barnacle.

Scott's eyebrows twitched but he nodded. Alex reached out to push the curtain away but the nurse came back just then with a disgustingly young doctor in tow. The guy didn't have any grey hairs! Someone who worked in an ER should have grey hair, right?

With quick, impersonal movements, the doctor unravelled the doughnut bandage on Remy's arm. "Okay, so Remy, how did you get that piece of glass in your arm?"

"He fell," said Scott. "We were fighting and he fell on our coffee table."

"Where are your parents?"

"The base," Remy quickly answered. "Grad night. Dad's doing the gauntlet."

The doctor snorted, obviously familiar with the traditional forty-eight-hour hazing that marked the end of training for every new batch of recruits. Alex barely managed to roll his eyes at the ease at which they lied about Dad's drinking.

"And your mom?"

Scott answered for everyone again. "We just stay with our dad."

By now, the bandage was just a bloody tangle on the bed and holy shit! Alex could see exactly what had happened to Remy's arm and no matter what he'd imagined, it still looked grosser because it was real. He tried to back away but Adam, still wrapped around his leg, prevented further movement.

"It looks a little more complicated than I was told," said the doctor. "I can either put local anaesthetic or put you under for a while, whichever you're more comfortable with."

"Local," Remy said without hesitation.

"Somehow, I thought you'd say that." After scribbling on his clipboard, the doctor reached into his pocket and took out a small white pill bottle. Tapping out two capsules, he filled a paper cup at a nearby water dispenser and handed both to Remy. "This is just a slight tranquilizer. It'll help with keeping you calm while we sew you up. I'll be right back with an assistant and some equipment, okay?"

Scott nodded his thanks. Alex wished he could ask for some of those pills; that cut was majorly scary. Blood still leaked from the gash in thick, lazy droplets every time Remy moved his arm.

Trying to keep his mind off of it, Alex twisted around to tap Adam's head. "Hey, you still want milk?"

Adam shook his head against Alex's hamstrings.

"I saw hickory sticks in the vending machine. How about those?"

Again, Adam shook his head. Alex was about to suggest chocolate bar knowing that Adam couldn't resist but Scott's frantic yelp of "Doctor!" shot all possibility of calmness from his head.

High-pitched gasps hissed from Remy's lips which were going blue. His mouth opened wide as he tried to drag air into lungs that somehow wouldn't inflate, the wound on his arm forgotten with the greater threat of choking to death.

A doctor-- a different one, older and a woman-- ran towards them. "Assist!" she yelled as he shoved past Alex. "What happened?"

"I don't know. The other doctor gave him something to calm him down and then he started choking," said Scott.

As two nurses came in, the new doctor poked a finger down Remy's throat but even though he gagged nothing came out. She pressed a stethoscope against his chest. "He's not choking on the pills. I think we're having a severe anaphylaxic reaction here. Does he have an epi-pen?" she asked Scott.

"A what-- He doesn't have allergies," Scott said.

Another nurse pushed Alex away, wielding a small glass capsule and a packaged syringe. Adam was crying now, wailing even, so Alex hoisted him up and tucked his head into his shoulder. Petting the kid's head, he said "shhh, shhh" while half-wishing someone would do the same for him.

The doctor filled the syringe with the clear fluid from the capsule and jabbed it in Remy's uninjured arm. Remy's fingers were nearly blue-black now and he'd slumped against Scott, passed-out or almost there and for five entire seconds, Alex hated Dad for drinking and hated Scott and Remy for hiding everything and hated their mom for dying but mostly hated himself because there was never anything he could do about it.


	46. The Boss of You

**The Boss of You**

* * *

As anal retentive as he might have been, Scott knew, going into the Blackbird, that Jubilee was pissed off at him and Bobby, disappointed. Smacking Logan in the head with the butt of his gun in front of them probably induced that change in attitude. Strangely, he'd found the action highly stress-relieving. Or perhaps not so strangely considering how hard his temple was pounding. Warren was pissed at him too but Scott couldn't quite figure out why nor did he have the time to suss it out. With the two students retrieved, he had to get that Genosha file and think of the next plan of action. 

Fury's expression didn't change past "implacable" even with his supposed most wanted felon manacled and caged. He held a CD out to Scott. "Thanks for staying the day to debrief, Cyclops. Here's our end of the deal."

"Thanks," said Scott, all but grabbing the CD. "Everyone in the jet."

Fury lit his cigar and took a long puff. "You keep those kids trained. If I spot them making green mistakes, I'm going to be mighty pissed at you."

Guiltily, Bobby hunched his shoulders while Jubilee tucked her arm around his and stalked towards the Blackbird.

His voice dangerously even, Scott said, "I'll keep that in mind."

"You know, SHIELD could deploy a search for your brother," Fury called out to their backs, "but I'd need you to make good on that Brazil contract."

He hated that he actually paused to think about it. "Not interested," said Scott. "We'll make do with what we have."

"You sure? Brazil's less than an hour away from here on that fancy, illegal jet of yours. I'm sure I can convince the pencil pushers to release a small squad and another plane if you four tag along. Especially since you brought Logan back."

Scott wondered if how many cannons they'd level at him if he flipped Fury the bird. Definitely two, maybe three. Four if Fury was in a bad mood. Really though, in the face of Scott's headache, four cannons sounded heavenly.

"We're not interested," said Warren before Scott could make up his mind about which gesture he should use to say good-bye. "If you want any more deals with the X-Men, Gen. Fury, I suggest a meeting at neutral ground with an army of lawyers."

Fury tapped his cigar. "You don't want to be meeting SHIELD lawyers, son. They make me look like a baby bunny."

Six feet away from the jet and a truly spectacular exit, Scott's commelink rang. Caller ID spat the name "Clifton Trauma Centre" onto the screen. Why would a hospital have his commelink number unless... Scott's other temple pulsed. "Cyclops."

"Before you yell at me, I want a chance to defend myself," said Alex.

The throbbing on either side of his head combined forces to triple his headache. He had painkillers somewhere on his uniform. Searching his pockets, he asked, "What happened?"

"He got shot, that's what happened," said Remy.

"Remy, what-- are you tying up a hospital phone line?"

"No, Alex rigged my cell phone to the landline."

"You're using a cell-phone in a hospital?" Ah, there was his ibuprofen. Scott popped two pills out of the bubble strips and dry-swallowed.

"Focus, asswipes!" Alex barked. "The landscape here is the bullet in my shoulder."

Scott paused as he climbed the ramp into the passenger cabin. "You really got shot?"

Warren's head whipped around. "Who got shot?"

"Alex."

"There's a surprise."

"Who's Alex?" asked Bobby.

"Cyclops' brother," Warren answered Bobby.

Scott held up a hand to quiet the ones in the room. "Not right now, guys."

"I just got shot and you don't want to talk about it, right now?" Alex practically screamed.

"Typical," said Remy. "Worthington's probably giving him head."

"How many brothers does Cyclops have?" asked Bobby.

Warren frowned. "Too many."

Forcibly unlocking his tense jaw muscles, Scott moved away a few feet to pretend he had some privacy. "What happened?"

"Alex thinks he's Fox Mulder," said Remy.

"Just because I'm paranoid, it doesn't mean they're not after me," Alex said, still audibly groggy. "My brothers get kidnapped by a multinational company, my dorm gets bombed and I get shot at--"

Remy snorted. "The way I hear it, you stood in the middle of the road and painted a target on your chest."

"Will someone explain this chronologically without the commentary by Abbot and Costello?" asked Scott.

"Who?" chorused his brothers.

"Just... Small words. Short sentences."

Alex tackled this one. "Sniper. Salem Center Mall. My right arm and left shoulder."

"You didn't try to be a hero, did you?" Before Alex could confirm or deny, Scott continued. "You're not like us, Alex. You can't just jump into situations like that and--"

"Why the hell not?"

"You're not a mutant," Scott said slowly. "You don't have invulnerable skin or a healing factor or, hell, a Kevlar vest. You can and did get hurt--"

He could almost see Alex sitting up off the bed, loaded for bear. "Listen, I may not have any of your so-called gifts but last I checked, I'm still the only one who can hit a bull's eye at forty feet, rapid fire and when we fought in the Danger Room, I whupped your pansy asses even when you were using your powers so where do you get off telling me what I can and can't--"

"Why're you pissed off about this?" Remy demanded. "Three hundred sixty-four days out of the year, you don't like us doing our jobs and now you're complaining 'cause we don't want to drag you into--"

If he had another painkiller, would he still be able to pilot the Blackbird? Scott decided against it, barely. "I'm going to hang up now and call the professor."

"Why are--"

He pressed the end button. After a deep breath that did nothing for his headache, he speed-dialled the professor's office.

"I thought I'd hear from you," said the professor with enviable calmness.

"I knew something like this would happen if Alex--" Scott stopped short. Now was not the time to hash this out. Swallowing the rant, he said, "Remy and Alex are confined to school grounds until I come back."

The professor didn't speak for a while. "Scott, I'm not certain that will go over well."

"I don't care what they think; it's for their own good. I'm not going to lose any--" Scott's larynx seized. "Keep them on school grounds until I come back. I just have to follow a lead." More softly, he added, "Please, Professor. I know you'll keep them safe."

The professor sighed. "I'll do what I can."

Warren waited until Scott had tucked his phone back in its case before speaking. "I know that look. You are not going to Brazil."

"War..."

"No!" Warren's wings snapped out, feathers standing on end as he made a negating gesture. "No, Scott, just... no. No! You're flying the 'Bird back to the school ASAP."

Scott's visor flashed in annoyance. "Warren, they shot Alex."

"And I appreciate that you're concerned but you've had ten hours of sleep total in the past four weeks. You've lost muscle mass and I don't even want to guess what your reflexes are like any more."

Scott zoned him out and headed for the ramp.

"If you go on this mission, you'll compromise yourself and the other SHIELD agents," Warren continued, his tone escalating. "I don't care that much about them but they're the ones holding our back--"

"You're not coming," Scott told him. To the kids, he said, "Buckle up. Angel will fly you both home."

Baffled and concerned, Bobby and Jubilee sat down but kept their attention on the fighting adults.

Warren blocked the exit with a wing. "You're not going on this SHIELD mission, Cyclops."

"Stand aside, Angel."

"No." Warren's voice was just short of shouting. "I've helped you out as much as I can for the past few months but you just find new ways to make things hard on yourself. You're tired, you're stressed, you're still depressed over Jean's death-- you're in no condition to do anything else today. Maybe not for the next week."

"Angel, I'm not going to ask you again. Move aside."

"For God's sake, Scott! Why are you being so goddamn stupid about this?"

Icily, Scott said, "You wouldn't understand; you're not family."

Although his wings drooped, Warren's spine straightened and his features hardened. A hollow ringing reverberated through Scott's ears, echoing the pounding in his head.

"I guess I'm not," said Warren softly.

"Warren, I didn't mean... I was..."

Argh! Scott inwardly kicked himself in the balls. His life needed rewind and erase buttons.

* * *

Even though he sounded like a twelve-year-old, Alex maintained that he had a valid point. He just had to convince the professor of that. "Why do I have to stay at home but Remy gets to leave?" 

"Because I wasn't stupid enough to get myself shot," Remy said before Xavier could answer.

"To the contrary, Remy shouldn't be allowed to leave either," said Xavier. "However, his contribution to finding Adam requires that he go outside school grounds while you only need full access to our computing systems." He sighed. "Scott, I'm sure, will not like my leniency but short of mentally restraining the both of you until he returns, I know there is no way to keep you confined. I am not mistaken in my belief that you have the best of intentions, I hope."

"Of course, Professor." Remy beamed. "In fact, I have to get to that issue right now so if you'll both excuse me, I've got to get ready." He left but not without winking at Alex first.

"You know he's corrupting Rogue," said Alex.

"I've talked with Remy about his intentions with Rogue," the professor said. "He means her no harm."

"Remy never means anyone harm but it happens anyway," Alex groused. "He just knows exactly how to weasel his way into looking clean as fallen snow. Did you see they way he was all buddy-buddy with those cops? They don't know he's wanted in, like, a frillion different crimes; they freakin' bought him doughnuts!"

Xavier studied him over steepled fingers. "I'm sure you brothers appreciate all the help you've given so far, not only in the current situation but throughout your lives. They may not vocalise their gratitude but it exists."

Rolling his eyes and crossing his arms, Alex said, "I'm not going to go to pieces because they don't pat me on the head."

One of Xavier's eyebrows arched up.

"I don't! I just hate it when they patronize their little baseline brother because I don't have built in weaponry."

"Would you like to be a mutant?"

"Hell no. Life's hard enough as it is." Alex didn't like the way Xavier sometimes just looked through you. It was creepifying. "What?"

"Nothing," said Xavier. "As soon as you're feeling up to it, come by my office. You can use the computer room beside Cerebro to do your research. As undoubtedly excellent as your current technical unit is, Cerebro's mainframe has access to several databases that would otherwise be unavailable to civilians."

"Scott has access to classified information?" Alex twisted his expression into incredulity. "Whoduh thunk it?"

Xavier turned his head to one side. "For someone who doesn't care about his brothers' opinions, you always seem to bring them into the conversation."

"For a school that's supposedly pacifist, you have a shitload of militaristic material," Alex shot back.

Xavier's face tightened and, just as quickly, smoothed out, leaving Alex to wonder if the morphine had played a trick on him.

"Buzz me on the intercom when you're ready," was all the professor said before wheeling out.

In hindsight, Alex reflected, pissing off a powerful telepath wasn't smart. For all he knew, Xavier could mind-meld him into cutting paper dolls for the rest of the day

Doctor's orders kept him in bed until morning when he could get up under the influence of a Tylenol 3. The computer the professor told him about ended up being a nerd's wet dream with six slave monitors and an air conditioner to cool the harddrive. Three of the slave monitors already showed news feeds; the remaining four had star fields zooming out in a rainbow of colours.

Alex stepped in with the solemnity of a seminarian at an altar.

"We usually use this to search for mutant activity," said Xavier as he wheeled to one side. "I can't be in Cerebro all the time, of course, so we have a program that scans for certain keywords in the newscasts."

Alex slid into the chair. An ergonomic chair. Lots of soft bumps and supports. Nice. "Which program?"

Xavier pointed it out on the desktop "I presume you would be able to manipulate the search parameters."

"Give me a few hours," he muttered. Code spanned across the screen. Dude. "And a brain transplant."

"I can give you an assistant," said Xavier. "She's quite good with computers."

"How good?"

"Her first year here, we had to ground her for shunting funds from Microsoft to the school's expense account."

Alex blinked. "Bring her in."

* * *

Moonlight and the lamps on the driveway left a ragged square of ivory on the bedroom floor. Remy shifted from one foot to the other, his heart inexplicably palpitating. He didn't like the feeling. Twirling the cigarette between his fingers, he asked, "Come again?" 

"You heard me, Gambit. Le Beau Roi ain't too pleased with you." Lapin's voice came through with crystal clear remorse.

"What you going on about, hommes? It's just a job. Skills for info, you know that."

Lapin clicked his teeth. "Boy, you on something? This ain't no ordinary job. This is a revenge pinch. Minute you took this job, you good as handed in your walking papers to New Orleans."

Remy opened his mouth to speak then clamped his lips down again. Stupid Guilds. Stupid heist. Stupid, stupid, stupid Remy. He should've seen this set up from miles away but he'd been so distracted with everything that he'd failed to make the connections. He'd gotten too cocky.

"Le Roi, he's hopping. Wants your head on a platter. Don't think you can ever go back to this city, hommes. Not without your skin intact not to mention a two or three body parts I know you like keeping around for fun."

"Fuck." Remy pressed the balls of his free hand against his forehead. "I put in good work for him, goddammit. Hell, he's the one who told me to ask Ms. Manners for info. What the fuckin' right does he have kicking me out of the city?"

"Right of any Guildmaster according to Law. You crossed a territorial boundary with a revenge pinch. That there's practically the second commandment." Lapin chuckled nervously. "Hope that info was worth your life."

Before he did something even more stupid like yell at his one contact, Remy hung up. He even managed not to throw the damn cell-phone out the window. Stupid Remy. So goddamned stupid.

Okay. Okay. this was still salvageable. He had a reputation and skills to back it up. He wouldn't have to start at the bottom again. This was going to be a lateral type of movement, goddammit.

The curtains flew open. Remy saw Rogue stick her head in, her eyes adjusting to the darkness of his room, before she spoke. "Wake up call."

He waved at her, hoping the smile didn't look as forced as it felt. "Hello there, Stripes. Mighty nice night to practice a little crime, ain't it?"

"I wanted to give you something," she blurted out. "I know it's too late for your birthday and too early for Christmas but I wasn't sure what to give you back then and I think it might be kind of dumb so if it is just tell me and I can return it or something or get you cologne for Christmas instead 'cause I think I remember you telling me you were running out and anyway, you shouldn't have to keep a stupid present just because you opened it in front of a bunch of people so here it is." She shoved a paper bag at him.

"You suddenly developed a second mutation, Peaches?" At her puzzled silence, he explained, "You talked five minutes straight without breathing. That's got to be something new."

"Just open the freakin' present, Remy."

"Hang on a sec, I need some air. Let me get out there and open it." He snagged a fitted black sweater hanging on the bed's footboard and yanked it over his black tee. Then, he pulled himself up on the roof where Rogue crouched, her present balanced on her lap.

"You're totally under no obligation to keep this," she said. "And if you lie to me and tell me that you like it even though you don't, I'm gonna go Wolverine on you."

"You're going to get a bad haircut and smoke fake Cubans?" He grinned, his teeth brilliant white in the waning moon.

She thumped his shoulder. "Just open it already."

"All right, Peaches." He reached inside the bag and drew out a heavy mass of sepia leather. "What's this?" Remy stood and shook the mass open. It unravelled into a trenchcoat-- supple, a bit worn around the edges but still serviceable.

"You know how you were saying that you get cold all the time because your body's always charging things off-hand?" Rogue stood as well, a little shakier. "I saw this when I was in the city going through the second-hand stores with Kitty and I thought it was perfect 'cause it's a little like those old Western dusters so now you can honestly say you're a Browncoat. It's got this really warm lining but it's still kinda light. And I sewed these little pockets on the inside for your cards and lockpicks and stuff."

Remy silently held the jacket at arm's length. Something sparkled in his guts.

Rogue wilted. "I know, it was stupid. You could probably buy a better one, a newer one and I should just--"

"It's not stupid," said Remy.

"It is."

"It's not."

"It is!"

"No, it's not," Remy said firmly. He twirled the coat around his shoulders, slipping his arms in the sleeves with the ease of familiarity. The cut fit well around his torso; not too tight but with enough of a bias to please his finicky eye for detail. He smoothed the thick lapels around his neck then followed their line down to his waist pockets which led to an investigation of the inner pockets. There must've been half a dozen of them-- room for his cards, his set, a few loops for other tools and knives.

"What do you think?" He spread his arms. "Do I look just about ready to smuggle cows into some podunk planet?"

Rogue smiled. "It looks great on you. Peacock."

"I never would've found one like it," he said. "Wouldn't've thought of it at all." He ruffled her hair. "Thanks, Sugarplum. Best present I ever got."

"You're welcome." Rogue's smile transformed into a full-out beam as she stuck her hand out for a shake.

"What's shakin' hands bullshit?" Remy said, mockingly affronted. "C'mere and give me a hug, Stripes."

"Not on the roof!" Rogue squawked. "I'll fall then you'll fall and I'm not strong enough to carry yo--aaawwwk!"

Remy caught her up, wrapping her in the coat and leaving only the top of her head uncovered. "For waking me up at five in the goddamned morning, you're getting a classic noogie."

"Remy!" She punched his stomach but he had tensed those muscles precisely for the possibility. "Get off! You were already awake and this coat hasn't been washed."

"Oh, so you woke me up at five in the goddamned morning and you're sticking me with a cleaning bill. Death is too good for the likes of you."

"Remy!" Rogue wormed her way out of the coat, her head finally popping up just under the collar just as Remy was lowering his body to get a better grip on her. His mouth cracked against her forehead.

"Ow!"

"Erk!"

Rogue rubbed her forehead; Remy, his teeth. For half a second, he felt a niggle of... something. Embarrassment? Expectation? Something terrifyingly familiar that pulled his gaze-- hell, his entire body!-- forward, closer to Rogue.

"I know I got morning breath but that's no reason to headbutt me," said Remy, trying to shake the mood off.

Much to his disgust, her open smile only tugged at him more. "You don't know how bad your morning breath is. Stale spit and stale cigarette smoke. Bleuch!"

"Well, if someone hadn't woken me up at five in the goddamned--"

"You asked for a wake-up call!"

He let go but couldn't quite bear to completely lose contact so he "So I did." Critically, he eyed her, not her outfit so much as her expression. Controlled excitement danced in every pore of her body. Remy smiled, his problem with the Guilds momentary forgotten.


	47. Present Interlude 7

**Present Interlude #7**

* * *

The head of security fairly reeked of distress as was only correct. 

"Explain how this could have happened," said Essex, making sure to keep his tones tight and even.

"The men were under the impression that this was a standard neutralisation, sir," the man said.

"Then your men need to learn how to read. As it is, they not only called attention to themselves, but failed to bring in the specimen." Essex sat back, forcing his breathing to regulate. "What will you do now?"

"Find those responsible. Do whatever it takes to impress upon the remaining staff that such mistakes will not be tolerated. And, with your permission sir, I can launch another initiative to bring in the subject."

"Very good. Come back to me when you have this new plan outlined. I want this subject quite desperately."

The head of security saluted. "I will draw on all my experiences, sir." Considering what the man had done in the Balkans ten years ago, Essex was satisfied that he could make up for this mistake. In any case, he had CA-III-ASR3 to study further with until his brothers were brought in.


	48. Gifted

**Gifted**

* * *

Remy couldn't believe the professor actually let him take Rogue out to Delaware. Either the man was going senile or he didn't give as big a shit about his students as the brochure claimed. Why this bothered him, Remy didn't know but experience inured him to worrying an hour before a job. 

In the bathroom, Rogue hummed as she changed. Remy was doing the same, even down to the articles of clothing: dark, fitted pants tucked inside soft soled boots and the cheapest black T-shirts that could be found in Wal-Mart. The pants didn't shed and the shoes had only minute bumps as grips. Definitely not for playing ball in the gym with the guys but well suited to breaking and entering. He pulled on his trenchcoat with a grin. He'd gotten used to wearing it and having al his tools within reach.

The bathroom door slid open, pushed aside Rogue who was still tying her braid up into a bun. "I still can't believe the Professor let us go."

"He knows this is important," Remy lied.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "That sounded so untrue coming from your mouth."

"You know me too well."

The lab law a mile northeast of their motel room. Their gear was stashed in another car halfway between the two locations. Getting out of the hotel was easy; jogging half a mile in the middle of October wasn't. Remy spent his formative years in the sub-tropics and his adolescence in a desert; he didn't take well to wind chill. Thank God it wasn't raining either or he'd've been damned pissed off. At least the second car warmed him up a smidge on the way to the job.

The Dashwood Building was an inconsequentially stout structure in a nondescript section of Dover, Delaware set amongst other yawn-inducing buildings, the type of building that didn't garner a single synapse of memory even to those who drove past it every day all their lives. In other words, it was the perfect building in which to hide all manner of clandestine things.

On the count of three, Remy waved a forged electronic fob in front of the sensor at the same time that Rogue inserted a key in the analogue deadbolt lock on the other side of the doorway. The sensor light flashed green, Rogue turned the key and the door hissed open. A few feet in lay another door where they had to repeat the process. Before that, however, they unloaded their gear.

Disabling the building's alarms wasn't difficult; heck, any half-trained monkey could do it. The catch here was the motion sensors and the cameras. No one but no one was supposed to be in the building between 10 p.m. and 7 a.m.; anyone who entered up-graded the sensitivity of the monitors. The motion detectors went on a wide scan and in-put information directly to the cameras so that they followed every move. Facial recognition was a guarantee. Move anything in the sensitive-items section and the sensors told wall-mounted guns to aim for the head. The set-up was pretty smart-- subtle enough to seem like your average security system but with a decidedly deadly twist. The wall mounts were what got Ms. Manners' boys.

Without a previously made plan, the place would have taken Remy at least a year to crack. Ms. Manners' Lefts were almost as good as him. The masks took care of facial ID but the monitoring system still had to be taken care off. Rogue popped open the electronic scanner, searching the guts for the proper cables. Remy handed her a specialized USB adaptor to attach to the cables' ports which would allow him to piggyback into the system. This interior scanner was linked to the same computer system as the sensors. There were redundant links, of course, not to mention several virus programs but this new one the NYGuild cooked up should keep the systems busy for at least twenty minutes.

Remy pressed the Enter button.

The scanner light turned green.

They leapt into action.

* * *

When the blackness of the cells became complete, Adam leapt into action. He threw his pillow through the opening. The soft projectile whumped against the wall on the other side, not the least bit scorched. He stared, jaw slack. It was actually happening. The Resistants were actually getting out of there. 

"Hurry," Gav hissed at him.

"What the hell's going on?" demanded Scalphunter.

"We're free," Adam answered giddily, "C'mon, let's--"

"Move," said Gav insistently. "Quickly."

"Free? What do you mean--" But Gav tugged Adam away before Scalphunter could finish his question.

Gav yanked at Adam's arm all the way down the hall. "We must escape. Let others worry about releasing the rest."

A fleet of guards rounded the corner, invisible except for the heavy slamming of their uniform boots and the hollow clatter of their firearms against Kevlar.

"Hold!" shouted the captain.

Without breaking stride, Gav slid feet first into their formation, kicking out to disarm one guard. He plucked the loose rifle from the air and swung a perfect homerun into another one's ribs. Bones cracked.

"I got the skinny one!" Adam heard someone say seconds before warmth grazed his cheek.

Disbelievingly, he raised a hand to catch the blood.

"Adam!" Gav called out. He was still in the middle of that guard cluster, somewhere Adam couldn't see. "Run, for the love of all you hold--"

Something else crunched and Adam was very much afraid it was Gav. Resolve settled into his bones. Gav might have slight foot-in-mouth disease but he'd been nice to Adam and he was his only way out of here alive.

Adam rushed the guards.

"No!" Gav managed to gurgle out but Adam had already launched himself at the nearest body.

"Channel Alex, channel Alex, channel Alex," Adam muttered as he kicked and punched wildly. "Channel Alex. Alex smash."

His forearm serendipitously slammed into a rifle. Adam yanked it out of the guards' hands before it went off, flipped it around and fired. The shot boomed down the hall. Body fluids sprayed everywhere.

"Jesus," he gasped. "I... I..."

Gav grabbed the rifle and proceeded to gun everyone else down. "They must be under orders to keep us alive," he said. "That puts us at an advantage."

He pulled on Adam's arm again both slipping against bodies and blood.

"Jesus," Adam repeated. His breath wouldn't come out properly. He tripped to a stop, barely catching himself against some sort of pole as his stomach tried to invert itself.

"We have no time," said Gav.

"But... I killed..."

"And you will kill more." Gav shook him. "Do not forget what they have done to us, what they will continue to do."

"I think I have... pieces of... in my face." Frantically, Adam scrubbed at his hands and face. He had to get the pieces of human off him. They were stuck on him, staining him. Oh, God, what if some got in his mouth and he'd eaten--

What little Adam had in his stomach spattered on the floor. He was still spewing when Gav dragged him, half running, half stumbling, further down the hall. "You can do this," he told Adam. "We will escape. But first, you must get over this irrational fear of blood."

"Irrational?" Adam chuckled nervously. "I'm irrational. I burn people's blood, I'm breaking out of sci-fi lab and my boyfriend was literally a test-tube baby. How could I possibly be irrational in the face of all of that?"

"You are suffering from hysteria."

"Damn diddly."

"Stop it."

When the next corner revealed another half-dozen guards, Adam inhaled deeply. Six rifles aimed for various vital parts of his anatomy. With Alex's instructions in mind-- both eyes open, stay on target, don't stiffen your arm up too much, feet apart to brace yourself-- he fired.

This time, he refused to throw up.

* * *

Scott threw five flash bombs in quick succession up and over the razor-wire fence. Human traffickers and cargo alike screamed as SHIELD penetrated the last barricade in this sorry pit. 

"Um anjo! Um anjo de morte!"

Warren manoeuvred around the stalactites, his heavy wings breaking through the wooden crates and corrugated tin sheets that Bobby had iced. He threw more smoke and flash bombs in the crowds.

"Jubilee, look for the main hold," Scott said into his mic. "Minimum fire, got it?"

"Copy, Cyclops."

Scott circled in the opposite direction. Two years ago, he'd struggled to shoot a blast at a person. Now, his visor's aperture was practically stuck on open. What did it mean when he made mentally corrected lecture notes in the middle of a battlefield?

A large cage lay at two o'clock. Two short blasts knocked the guards out; Scott rushed to the cage. As he soon as he opened the door, children and teenagers rushed out in a panic, still handcuffed to each other and making no progress outside of harming themselves even further. Glancing over his shoulder, Scott saw that a metric tonne of SHIELD agent now swarmed the cave; he had time to untangle these kids.

Several icicles flew past him as Bobby chased after some more bad guys. Scott continued to zap one handcuff after another. He knew he held the kids a little too roughly but he had to make sure he was shooting the cuffs and not their ankles which were pathetically emaciated already. Thankfully, by the seventeenth handcuff, most of them descended into confused silence.

"Cyclops, we're almost clear," a SHIELD agent buzzed in his head.

"Copy," said Scott. "I found one package here and possibly three more within the perimeter."

_Zark_. Eighteen handcuffs.

_Zark_. Nineteen handcuffs.

_Zark_. Twenty handcuffs.

"We'll send someone over to check it out. And sign of the prize package?"

"No."

_Zark_.

_Zark_. Did these people land a sale or something?

In the end, Scott snapped sixty-three handcuffs, having skipped most of the ones locked to wrists. They could run and it was probably better to be in groups. A lot of them just huddled in piles, too worn out to do anything but watch reams of black-clad agents beat the holy hell out of their captors.

Scott shook off the chill creeping up his arms. "Iceman, Angel, Jubilee: report."

"All clear," said Bobby.

Angel dropped down a few yards away and folded his wings. "All clear."

"All clear and peachy keen," said Jubilee. "So did you find the prize package?"

Scott's lips twisted. "No. But I'm sure Fury's already magically discovered it."

A SHIELD agent snapped into his earpiece. "We've found the prize package! I repeat: we've found the package!"

"Right on cue." Contacting Bobby and Jubilee, he said, "Let's round up the kids and make sure they're okay. Most of them are malnourished but if any have severe injuries, take them straight out to the Helicarrier."

"Excuse me, Cyclops, sir." An agent snapped to a stop and saluted. "General Fury would like you to stay on to retrieve the prize package."

"Tell Fury that I came to give extra firepower without extra bloodshed," said Cyclops, infusing the last of his strength into maintaining an even tone. "If he wants me to act as a courier, it'll cost him."

"That package _is_ the payment," said Fury, clomping through the carnage without a change in expression. "This isn't just any human trafficking conglomerate."

Scott lifted his eyebrows.

"We can really tell this is a higher level of child abuse," said Warren dryly. "The undeground labyrinth was a nice touch."

"While you were playing angel of Christmas, did you happen to notice anything special about these kids?" asked Fury. He flicked cigar ashes at the huddles headed out the tunnels.

"They're all hungry?"

"They all look alike."

Warren was rolling his eyes but Scott took a closer look. He did note similarities in the ones he'd freed but he'd been so concentrated on moving to the next batch of huts that he dismissed them as siblings. Now, without debris and bullets fogging his field of view, he didn't know how he could have missed the resemblances.

"They're kidnapping entire families?" Scott said.

"They're growing people," Fury corrected. "Genosha has a pretty good rep with the UN at the moment because it's so goddamn boring. Vanilla beans and environmental preserve-- some bullshit like that. We have reason to believe that illegal eugenics is alive and well on Genosha and these kids are the end result."

Xavier's cloning file popped into Scott's mind. He _had_ this information. Dammit, he had this information and he didn't do anything about it. How could he possibly fail in so many fucking ways? Scott dug his fingernails into his palms.

Unaware of his friend's anger, Warren said, "The technology doesn't exist for cloning people."

"That's what you think," said Fury. "It's been theoretically viable for the past eight years; no one's done it because of the backlash. But if someone had access to an inconsequential island in the asscrack of the Indian Ocean and funding from several interests groups, I say you could go ahead and clone your piddly little heart out without so much as a handslap. The prize package is a few women they're using as incubators. Kidnapped, of course, fooled into thinking they were signing up for city jobs."

"That's preposterous," said Warren. "Something that secret can't happen any more."

"Don't be too sure," Scott said. "You could keep anything a secret with enough money and influence."

"Even so, all it would take is one successful breakout and the whole thing goes on CNN." He looked to Scott for verification but Scott's mind had already moved to a tangential thought.

"Why would this mission and the prize package be important to me," he asked Fury, "if it wasn't directly related to Adam?"

* * *

With Kitty typing up a whirlwind beside him, Alex easily accessed more information in an hour than in the past three months. Most importantly, he found Scott's private folder. 

He could strangle his big brother. In fact, as soon as he read the first two files-- one on a biotech company another on a kidnapping ring in Eastern Europe-- Alex actually planned out Scott's assassination. It would involve a tire iron, a garrotte and ten pounds of sambuca, an alcoholic beverage that had Scott gagging as soon as he smelled it. If he, Alex, had gotten his hands on this information the day after he landed in North Salem, Adam would have been here in September. No, instead, he had to rely on the bits and pieces Remy tore out of the damn Guilds.

Alex was so mad he could choke a bitch.

"Did you find anything else on Genosha?" he asked Kitty.

"No," she answered. "It's just like you said, it's all the same over and over again. I've even tried falsifying my IP and accessing it from different parts of the world but it's still the same. Totally a smokescreen."

He nodded, self-satisfied. "Okay, now we just have to figure out what a biotech company, desert real estate, investment firms and freedom fighters have to do with Genosha."

* * *

Six minutes into their time window and so far, so good. Remy crouched on a desk, careful not to kick any material to the floor. Rogue balanced on a chair and a desk at five o'clock. Without touching the floor, they jumped, crawled and flipped to the corridor on the opposite side of the room. Remy sprayed the camera lens pointed at the corridor's mouth a second before Rogue dove into it. She landed in a perfect shoulder roll and was running as soon as she got her feet back under her. 

_Three, four, five..._ Remy waved his electronic key at the sixth door. When it popped open without a sound, Rogue let out a relieved sigh.

The filing cabinet they needed stood just to the right. Remy boosted Rogue on top of the heavy metal shelving then jumped up as well while she searched for the proper drawer.

"It's at the bottom," she signalled.

Of course it would be. Remy bit the tip of his tongue and waved her over. "You go down," he countersigned.

Rogue's eyes widened.

He winked, holding his thumb and forefinger in a circle in an "A-OK" signal. Taking her gloved hands, he quickly kissed each palm and pressed them together.

Her wobbly smile lasted for a second before she composed herself again. Lying on her stomach, Rogue edged over the side to study the lock upside down. Remy sat on her legs for extra balance. Twelve and a half minutes left. Rogue could pick a lock in about three minutes; five when she was upside-down. Providing this was your standard filing cabinet, that gave them more than enough time to find the file and leave.

The drawer creaked open.

After a few minutes of shifting, Rogue stuck a three-foot cardboard roll up in the air. Gambit grabbed it and stuffed it in a nylon case which he slung around his back as Rogue pushed back up on the top of the cabinets.

Seven minutes left until he blew this whole place up and sealed his fate with the New York Guild.

* * *

In six minutes and twenty-seven seconds, Adam and Gav met up with four other groups of Resistants. The plan was going well so far. Two of the guards were on their side, unlocking their suppression collars in the two seconds allotted to catch a second wind. The compound's alarms threatened to burst Adam's eardrums. 

One woman-- Adam always forgot what her name was-- pushed towards the middle of the group. "You the one with the brothers?"

Adam nodded numbly but they were off and running again before he could elaborate. He, Gav and the woman stayed inside the group while bullets and tasers crossed with energy blasts and telekinetic shields. He cringed back the first time a dead body fell back on him but after everyone glared at him for tripping, he pretended the bodies weren't real and stepped over them.

"Keep running," Gav shouted. "Remember: leave the ones who fall behind."

The halls blurred into endless charcoal tunnels marked only by the size of the guards that came after them and the number of obstacles that he had to jump over. Thankfully the running stilled his gag reflex.

"Almost there," someone yelled.

Adam looked around. He was pretty sure there were supposed to be more people surrounding them than there really were. "Where did everyone go?"

Gav shook his head. "Keep moving. Attack at will."

"But Gav, you said the plan said we should just concentrate on getting to the exits."

"The plan is now flexible!" he shouted. "Move if you want to live!"

"But what about the other-- Gah!" Adam's leg buckled as heat spread from his thigh outward and he thought nothing would hurt as much as getting punched in the face by living stone but this was way, way worse because as he went down, he could see what happened and oh, my God, his leg was in pieces!, it was just mush from his hip down and he didn't know he could bleed this much and still be conscious but he really wished he could pass out soon because his leg looked so gross and Gav, Jesus, a guard had a gun pointed right at Gav's head.

Adam concentrated all his energy on the cut on that guard's forehead. "Burn, burn, burnburnburn."

Howling, the guard grabbed at his head and went down.

"Move." Gav yanked at Adam's arm but the pain went all the way up there, had migrated from his leg, which had to be dead by now, up to his body where there were more nerve endings that could torture him. "Get up, Adam."

"I can't," he said as he watched the rest of the group run for the door.

Gav crouched down, slung Adam's arm around his shoulder and heaved. "Move." He tried to drag Adam forward but his leg refused to work.

"The others are getting away."

"Let them. We can fight our way out ourselves."

With the number of guards stomping down the halls, Adam seriously doubted that. "Go ahead," he said, failing to keep the tremor from his voice. This heroism crap was hard. "You're one of the best fighters. You can still get on that plane off this island."

"Not without you."

"For fuck's sake, my brothers'll help you even if you don't bring me along!" Adam yelled. "I'll slow us down."

"I know," said Gav. "I'm not leaving without you."

The guards stormed their way. Adam took advantage of Gav's momentary distraction to punch his shoulder. "Leave before I chicken out!" He punched him again. "Go!" Punch. "Go!" Punch, punch, punch, "Go, go, go," and Adam knew it was desperate because Gav never let him get a punch in this easily.

Sure enough, Gav slapped away the next blow and, in the same movement, leaned down to give Adam a hard, breath-hitching kiss. Then he whirled around and ran because both their lives depended on it.

* * *

Scott ran as if his life depended on it, blasting the damn stalagmites that got in his way. Even on wing, Warren only reached the entrance at the same time as he did. 

"I can get you to the Blackbird faster," he told Scott.

Scott was tempted to accept but, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bobby and Jubilee.

"We'll meet you up," said Jubilee. "I totally don't trust some of these guys with some of the packa-- the, uh, women."

"After what I've seen today, I'm not going home without the two of you," said Scott. "Warren, prep the Blackbird to pick us up as soon as I call." Warren nodded and took off. Turning to the kids, he asked, "Did they teach either of you to fly?"

Jubilee shook her head but Bobby raised his hand. "I wasn't really taught but I logged ninety hours at the simulator."

"Good enough; you're acting as my co-pilot."

"Are we... taking a copter?"

"Commandeering," said Scott.

"Cool."

"I want to be back home as soon as possible."

"Do you really think they kidnapped your brother for this cloning stuff?" Jubilee asked as she jumped in.

Scott didn't reply. He was too busy throwing the pilot out of the closest copter.

"Uh, I just overheard a transmission from the Helicarrier," said Bobby, almost apologetically poking his face into the conversation. "Logan escaped. Again."

"Everyone inside," said Scott. "We're heading home ASAP."

* * *

Alex had to get back to his research wall ASAP. With papers threatening to fly out from his stack of folders, he sprinted to the medlab with Kitty at his heels yelling something about the US military. 

"Hello, Alex, I--"

He didn't hear the rest of Hank's greeting and was only vaguely aware of the student he'd been treating. Throwing the files down on the floor, he pulled out the valid papers and began jogging from one wall to the next, pining up information with colour-coded tacks and drawing Sharpie lines between the sheets.

As he marked the final line in his research map and sat back, panting with exertion, Kitty stood behind him and whistled.

"That's insane."

"But logical."

"I found something else that might push it into X-Files territory." She handed him two papers: an article from the early eighties with the name "Michael Milbury" highlighted and the other dating to the nineteen-twenties with a "Michael Essex" in a caption under a photograph. Michael Milbury was being commended for the most successful births in the 55th Medical Group Hospital in Omaha, Nebraska. Michael Essex stood beside Charles Sherrington of the Royal Society in England. Michael Essex wore Michael Milbury's face.

"Holy shit."


	49. Past Interlude 17, San Diego, CA, 2001

**Past Interlude #17: San Diego, California - 2001**

* * *

Scott had a look that Alex hated on sight. His body stiffened and his face stilled, just like a feral cat about to pounce on a pigeon. Even though Scott was still in North Salem, Alex just _knew_ his pose; a blind man would know it from the tone of his voice. Well, it had been a long time since Alex as a pigeon-- if ever that _was_ such a time-- and he wasn't about to be one now just because a has-been baseball benchwarmer and a reject from the Woodstock School of Cotton-Batting Prejudice ganged up on his family. 

"What happened?" asked Scott.

Alex tensed up, too. "That's a stupid question," he said. "If you're calling at 5 A.M. Eastern time, you must know exactly what's going on."

"I can't believe you hit Adam's teacher."

"The guy was a dick!" Alex shot to his feet. "He just stood there while the other kids picked on him. Hell, he practically called him queer, too! And that stupid principal didn't do anything except get mad at Adam for defending himself. 'Exactly what I'd expect from your background' she said, like being a navy brat instantly made us, I dunno, gun-happy sociopaths or something. I'd like to piss in her tofu, the hypocritical old pothead."

"I'm certain delivering a right hook to the gym teacher's jaw went a long way from dissuading her of that fact." Scott sighed. "I bet you didn't even take a picture of her face after you beaned him."

"Oh, yeah? Well, _you_ should have-- wait... what?"

"The gym teacher. You should've taken a picture. The principal made my life hell there, too."

The world had gone all wonky.

"You're... not mad at me any more?"

"I'm furious. You acted like a twelve year old but you're there and I'm here and besides, what am I going to do? Ground you too?" He exhaled again and this time Alex was aware of how tired Scott sounded. His stomach twisted a little. "Where was Dad while all of this was going on?"

"He has manoeuvres all week," said Alex.

"Of course he does. That's not including the manoeuvres at the local bar."

"Why are you always down on Dad?" Alex found himself saying.

"Why are you always for him?"

"I'm not," protested Alex. He had no idea where words were coming from. He was pissed off at Dad too but somehow, having a pleasant conversation with Scott was too weird. He needed the familiarity of shouting matches. "I just... don't think it's fair that you bash him when he's not around to answer back."

"Well, when he finds time to go home and remembers to pick up the houseline instead of his little black crackberry, I'll make sure to call and remind him that number of children no longer counts as measures of virility."

"Scott. Gross."

"I agree."

Awkward silence filled the phone line.

"You're still wrong."

"Fuck you."


	50. 23:00

**Chapter 26: 2300**

* * *

Panthalassa in New York City didn't have celebrities. It didn't need extra security for paparazzi. It barely made the top twenty clubs in Manhattan. Nevertheless, people who knew about it always packed the dance floor and the public never knew that those people were just as powerful as the old-moneyed politicians and the latest Hollywood darling. 

Remy straightened his collar as he wove through the crowd to the bar. The blueprints they'd pinched the other night burned a hole through the safe deposit box in Downtown Manhattan. The sooner he could get the other half from Ms. Manners, the sooner he could figure out the mess he'd made of this whole damn deal and the sooner he could get drunk.

Catching the bartender's eye, he ordered a dirty martini for himself and a virgin mai-tai for Rogue. The bartender grinned. "I've got a stack of phone numbers for jobs and another stack for dates; which one do you want first?"

"I've got some of my own business tonight," said Remy. "Don't think I'll be able to make calls in either department but I'll give 'em a read."

"Business. Right." The bartender jerked his chin at Rogue who gyrated by herself in the middle of the dance floor as The Pussycat Dolls wondered if your girlfriend was raw like them. Catching his eye, Rogue rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out, twisting lithely as she traced the S-curve of her body. "So the squeaky clean Gambit finally gets his fingers wet in _that_ type of merchandise."

Remy felt an inexplicable desire to charge the man's teeth then shove them down his throat. "I don't. She's my apprentice."

He rolled his eyes. "Your apprentice. Right. I bet I know what happens for punishm-- urrrk!"

Remy had reached over the countertop and yanked the idiot's tie, his trenchcoat tipping over a trio of expensive frou-frou cocktails. "My. Apprentice."

"Yeah, sure," gasped the bartender. "Apprentice."

"Anyone say any different, I'll charge their nut-hairs, got it?" He swept the bar with a naked-eyed glare, making sure everyone could see the red glow in his eyes.

Message duly delivered, he wove back into the sweaty mess of bodies on the dance floor. Some of the confusion stemmed from Rogue's adopted persona. She had a big-eyed, innocent look perfect for blending in with the crowd and catching snippets of conversation. It helped that she was covered from the neck down; most women here wore less than two feet square of material. Her dark clothes absorbed much of the coloured lights with only the onyx beading at the neckline and hem sending off a hint of colour.

Still, a few people looked. Remy ended their slavering by partnering up with her before they could.

"Thanks," said Rogue. "That guy in the pinstripes didn't quite understand what I meant when I turned my back on him."

"Want me to kill him?" Remy asked casually.

She studied his expression, unable to gauge his sincerity. To be honest, Remy wasn't so sure himself. The idea of Rogue kissing anyone, even Bobby, made his stomach burn.

"If you kill him, we'll draw attention to ourselves," she said in the end.

Remy sighed. "Next time I guess. Start paying real good attention. The game's about to start and you're getting graded on this."

"Bullshit. You haven't graded me yet."

"Making me look bad on a public dance floor should result in a fail somewhere. Or," Remy scrunched his nose up thoughtfully, "maybe a really creative A. It's real hard to make me look bad."

Rogue thwapped him on the shoulder. "Egomaniac."

"Only to hide my soft, creamy centre."

A smile curled up despite her narrowed eyes, Rogue said, "I'll tell you what you can do with your soft, creamy centre."

Remy wagged his head. As song's vocalist worked towards the crescendo, he picked up the beat, whipping Rogue into several spins before pressing up to her back. His breath caught but he convinced himself it was because her arm dug a little too hard in his side. He intended to say "Now, now, Sugarplum. No matter how irresistible I am, you've got a boyfriend" but as he leaned down to yell in her ear, he caught scent of her.

Peaches. Jesus wept, she smelled like peaches. Why'd she go and slather herself in his favourite flavour?

He found his hands sliding down to cup the flare of her hips. She hooked one arm around his neck and curled her fingers around his, her head dropping back to rest on his shoulder, their rhumba morphing into something considerably more intimate.

A lady beside him sniffed jealously, muttering to her partner about needing more practice. Remy jolted out of the peach-coloured dream. Taking Rogue's hand, he twirled her out at a safe arm's length. "We almost turned that into a daytime soap."

"As opposed to a prime-time one?" She promenaded in a circle around him, arching her back dramatically and pointing her toes.

Leading her lightly around the waist, Remy said, "Well, those _do_ have more nudity."

Rogue hit him again, this time across the side of his head. "If I didn't know you were kidding ninety percent of the time, you'd seriously be in deep shit by now."

"You wound me, Peaches." He pulled her close and she let her head tilt back, falling with calculated limpness to her knees before he yanked her back up again. "I only kid seventy-five percent of the time."

Taking three steps away, hips swinging, Rogue turned on her toes and waited for him to come. "Should I be telling on you then?"

"Only if you never want to finish this job." As he stalked towards her, he made a twisting motion with his wrist. A rosebud appeared between his middle and ring fingers. "Ready?"

She almost ducked behind her bangs, a sure sign of nerves, but at the last second, she threw her shoulders back instead. If they weren't on a job, Remy would have applauded.

"Always."

Tucking the rose behind Rogue's ear, Remy took her gloved hand and retreated to a table behind thick green and gold curtains. Two bodyguards stepped forward. Remy shed the trenchcoat then held his arms out to his sides for a frisking. Rogue did the same; only Remy saw how nervous they made her, impersonal as their touch was. Oddly, he felt pleased; she was trusted _him_ enough to be at ease with his hands but not others. The next moment, he dismissed the emotion; he had to concentrate on Adam and finding information about him.

A well-coiffed if rather skinny man in a pinstriped suit and a cravat pushed aside the drapes that separated Ms. Manners' table. "I'm Courier, Ms. Manners' assistant. You must be Gambit and..." He raised an eyebrow at Rogue.

"My apprentice, Rogue," said Remy, pulling his coat back on.

"Your... apprentice."

With a sigh, Remy asked, "Why does everyone say it like that?"

"Gambit, buddy, you're the most requested member side of the Mason-Dixon line and if you hired out as a gigolo, you'd get paid just as much. When you come waltzing in a prime club with someone as vanilla as that one--" Courier dipped his chin in Rogue's direction-- "the first thing one everyone's mind is that you're trying a new flavour of ass."

Rogue stiffened, starting to protest "He's _not_ a--" and Remy had to yank at her sleeve to keep her quiet.

"Also, she's not a registered Jewel," Courier said.

Remy said. "We've been training for the past four months."

Courier stared her up. "She doesn't look like much."

"Mais yeah, she cleans up nice."

"_She_ is still in the room," said Rogue, a little more peevishly. Remy raised a brow at her and she ducked, murmuring, "Sorry, sir, but one minute it's an honour to be apprenticed to you and the next I'm some invisible bimbo. That's not what I signed up for."

Courier cracked a smile. "Oh, I like you, little Jewel. You remind me of the boss. Have a seat, you two. Ms. Manners will let us know when we're needed."

A passing server dropped off a bottle of wine and three glasses. The guard poured for them all; considering the type of business around here, underage drinking was the least of the crimes.

"So, little Jewel," Courier said as he swished his wine around in the glass, "How're you liking training with this guy?"

Remy quaffed his drink, hoping Rogue could hold up to this.

"It's adequate," was what she said.

"Adequate?" Courier studied Remy from the corner of his eye. "Training with one of the best Lefts in the Guilds is merely adequate?"

"He says I'm not ready for any big jobs," said Rogue. "I find that situation inadequate."

Courier laughed, eliciting a small reaction from the bodyguards this time. "I'm going to have to watch out for you, little Jewel. Gambit, if you don't name her, I'll be-- oh, that's you." He laid a hand on Rogue's arm as she stood to follow Remy. "The Jewel stays with us out here."

Touching Rogue's shoulder briefly, Remy stood. Nothing unexpected so far. She could steal a few more memories while he talked with the Guildmaster. The Courier's memories should have juicy information.

The guard waved him through as soon as Rogue was out of sight. "Your table is the second one from the right of the bar."

To Remy's surprise, Ms. Manners was, in fact, a woman. In the old-fashioned, macho world of organized crime, women were beloved treasures at best and abused belongings at worst. The woman at the table was no fresh lily. Although her make-up was exquisitely applied and her hair sedately golden brown, she had visible lines bracketing her mouth and eyes. Not that they deviated from her power; she wore her dress like a queen. She nodded at them, a hand briefly touching her ear where she undoubtedly heard the conversation that had just taken place in the antechamber through an earpiece.

"Ms. Manners." Remy performed the archaic courtly bow-- one leg stretched forward, one hand over his heart and the other flourished before him.

"Gambit." She inclined her heard. "Spat didn't say anything about an apprentice."

Remy nodded in the same supercilious manner. "I didn't tell her."

"I spoke with Le Beau Roi just a few days ago," she continued, referring to the Guildmasters of the south. "He didn't say anything about an apprentice either."

"Really?" To be fair, Remy had only hinted to his boss about Rogue. No sense in getting her too deep into it until she had a chance to wet her feet in the business, so to speak.

Ms. Manners pushed a portable screen towards him. A camera tracked Rogue's conversation with Courier. Thankfully, she performed wonderfully, choosing not to reveal her powers in close quarters and keeping the conversation light. "What's her name? What can she do?"

"Rogue. She's going to be one of the best cat-burglars you ever seen."

Ms. Manners laughed aloud. Apparently, it didn't happen often; the guards had their hands on their weapons as the first crackling syllables hit the air. "Why, Gambit, I wouldn't have expected you to choose someone like her as an apprentice. A girlfriend, even a long-time mistress--" she eyed Rogue's outfit critically, "-- but certainly not a Jewel."

"You'll notice, ma'am, that she's a Jewel in every way possible," said Remy diplomatically even though he really, _really_ wanted to comment on her age as a retort.

Calming. Down. He had to stay cool if he wanted his way.

"How long have you been training?"

"Four months." They'd agreed to stick as close to the facts as possible. Remy didn't know how far the Guildmasters of the East Coast could reach but they certainly would be able to follow one skunk-haired girl into a private school in upstate New York.

"And how are you finding it?" Ms. Manners continued, sounding like a high school guidance counsellor.

Remy thought on the question. "I'm beginning to see why my trainer was bald."

Ms. Manners cackled again. "I've heard stories about you, Gambit. In a fair world, you're going to suffer the same fate as him. Now, to business."

"First, a gift. My thanks in advance for all of your help, ma'am." He held out a small brown box, roughly the size of a cell phone.

One of Ms. Manners' guards took the box, scanned it for threats, then opened the lid. Inside were three lumps of bluish crystals, each roughly the diameter of a dime, slightly cloudy and cold to the touch.

"Blue diamonds," said the Guildmaster admiringly. "You flatter most convincingly, Gambit."

He only smiled.

"Three blue diamonds and a revenge heist. I didn't know you were so eager to work for me." Setting the box aside, Ms. Manners folded her hands on the table.

"Ma'am?"

"Don't play stupid, Gambit; it doesn't suit you. There are grudges, there are lessons and there are politics. I didn't get to be Guildmaster here without knowing how to balance the three."

"Ma'am, I do appreciate this great favour you've done for me and Le Beau Roi so--"

"Le Beau Roi no longer has need of you," Ms. Manners interrupted. She flicked her fingers and made a thin red envelope appear out of thin air. "He has released you into the East Coast to whatever capacity we need you." She smiled ferally.

In that instant, Remy felt the cage door creak behind him. The price for Adam's freedom was settled: a switch in guilds that meant proving himself all over again, clawing for a place in a new hierarchy and years to go before he could even think about freelancing. Ms. Manners, unlike her New Orleans counterpart, didn't see him as a favourite son, only as a fine tool for her collection.

Crap.

Then again, it meant having Adam home.

"Thank you for your support, ma'am," he said, forcing a charming smile on his lips. "I'm always at your beck and call."

"You certainly are. I'll call on Le Beau Roi for your records and assets tomorrow morning then we'll talk about terms."

Stiffer than usual, Remy excused himself from the table and collected a wide-eyed Rogue. She almost asked but something in his body language must have given his temper away. Bowing quickly to Courier, she scampered to his side.

"Dance with me," he ordered as soon as they stepped into the common room.

She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Remy?"

"Just dance with me, Sugarplum."

Biting her lower lip, Rogue slipped her arms up under his so that her palms lay flat on his shoulder blades. With her tucked perfectly in his arms, Remy swayed slowly to a rock song.

* * *

Alex crashed into the great room just as Scott charged in from the hangar still in his leathers. "Scott, I've got--" 

"Not right now, Alex," he said. "I've got a lead on Adam's--"

"So've I and it's better than yours." Scott didn't pause so neither did Alex. "There's some seriously weird shit following Dad around. That biotech company in your files is actually connected to this investment group that Remy found."

"Who gave you permission to go through my files?" Scott demanded, finally pausing to throw Alex a glare.

"Xavier," he shot back. "Straight from Daddy Warbucks himself. So listen up unless you want to be grounded for a month."

Scott rubbed his temples. "Fine. I'd be happy to. Just give me a few minutes to get my things together."

"Dude, we don't have time to gather things together! I'm talking totally crazy acid trip of a conspiracy here the likes of which would obsess Chris Carter and the writing team of 'Lost' all at the same time!"

Leaning his knuckles on the desk, Scott visibly swallowed, took a deep breath and swallowed again. "Okay. Show me this conclusion."

Alex had just spread his papers out on the desk when Remy strolled in, twirling a cardboard tube. "I know where Adam is."

"Take a number," said Scott.

Remy smacked the roll on the desk, sending a few of Alex's papers flying.

"Hey!" Alex squawked.

"We'll get to you in a second, Fabio. Scotty, take a look at these blueprints." Remy unrolled five large sheets on the desk, improvising paperweights to hold the ends down. "It's a place in Genosha that my contacts say--"

"What would the Thieves' Guild know about Genosha?" asked Scott.

Remy gave him what could only be a patronizing look and if Scott had the energy, he'd zap it off. "If it's illegal, the Guilds know about it and, Scotty, big brother, this place is steeped in it."

"Rather like your dick," said Alex cheerfully.

"You've been obsessed with dicks from a young age," Remy said. "Are you trying to tell us something? Is the gym actually more than a place where you pump iron? Maybe you pump something a little more."

"I was just referring to the fact that you smell like alcohol and weed when Xavier said you were just taking Rogue out on some training exercises. In the middle of the night. Wearing a silk shirt and designer leather shoes." Alex bared his teeth. It could have been a smile if lions smiled before going for the throat. "Exactly how did you exercise her, hmm?"

"I'm going to beat the--" Remy launched himself at Alex's midsection.

Scott blasted them both. His finger might have accidentally-on-purpose stayed on the switch for too long. "I'd been under the impression that you both had something worth while to contribute but apparently, I was mistaken. If you'll excuse me, I'll be in the council room trying to look for Adam."

"That's such bullshit!" Remy yelled. "You've been too busy with your precious students and crying in Worthington's three-piece suit to look for Adam."

"Some of us prefer to use legal means to obtain information," said Scott.

"And some of us actually try to get things done."

"I don't see Adam around, do you? Or are you saying you've managed to steal him back from here?" Scott tapped the blueprints. "If you really wanted to help, you'd get out of the way and let me do my job."

Remy slapped his arm away from the desk. "And if you took some time out from being Cyclops, Fearless Leader of the X-Men, maybe I wouldn't have to sneak around behind you to get things done."

"And if you both just listened to me to begin with, we could've pooled our energies instead of running around like idiots with different parts of the puzzle." Adam had to put in.

"You want to contribute? Fine." Scott gathered the notes, the blueprints and the manila folders in his arms. "Let's go to the council room and contribute."

Unfortunately, in order to get to a sub-basement elevator, Scott had to cross the great room again where Bobby and Warren swapped gripes, Jubilee cracked her gum in annoyance and Rogue--

"What are you wearing?" Scott blurted out, unable to help himself. Her outfit didn't show much skin but it might as well have been black paint! And where the hell did she get fuck-me red lipstick? The same store that sold red stiletto boots?

She looked down at herself. "I... we had to go clubbing."

"You _had_ to go clubbing," Alex repeated with a lot more irony. "I wasn't aware Hoochie 101 was an elective around here."

Remy smacked a hand against Alex's chest. "Shut your mouth or I shut it for you." His face softened; Scott's went stiff. "She looks fine."

"Were you drinking?" asked Scott.

"No," both Rogue and Remy answered too quickly.

Scott caught the confused look that Bobby bounced between Remy and Rogue. Jubilee glared at Bobby as he swung his head between the two. Wonderful. As if he didn't have enough to worry about teenage relationship drama had to be added to the mix. He reached for his ibuprofen only to remember that his arms were full of papers. "Council room. We need to get to the council room."

He'd barely taken a step in that direction when David entered carrying an unconscious student. "Is now a bad time to ask what the usual punishment is for psychic bullying?"

"The professor," Scott said. He was going to crack. He needed to get to the council room before he cracked. The split would start right above his left eye and tear down his skull, through his nasal passages, continue to his chest and end between his balls. The plan wasn't his only concern; he had an extra bottle of painkillers down there.

Alex took the table over once they reached the room. Snatching his papers from the disorganized sheaf in Scott's hands, he laid them out in the same order as in Scott's office. "Here's what I figure. Somebody named Michael Milbury or Michael Essex or Nathaniel Milbury or Nathaniel Essex or any other combination of those names--"

"Essex Milbury would make me want to join an eighties hair-band," said Remy under his breath.

"-- is deeply obsessed with eugenics," Alex continued, without so much as a glare, amazingly. "Because it's been outlawed pretty much all over the world, he's doing his experiments in a lab on the island, Genosha. All of these companies--" he tapped half a dozen sheets-- "are investors and these--" he picked out the remaining sheets-- "are the false front companies for supplies and stuff. I don't know how far he's gotten on the actual practical side but I think he's trying to go for, like the ultimate human."

"Blond, blue-eyed, six feet tall and square of jaw?" Remy smirked and glanced in Warren's direction.

"I don't know," said Alex. "But I think he's got a wider scope. Why go for plain old Aryans when you can have Aryan mutants?"

"That has to be an oxymoron," said Scott.

"I haven't even gotten to the weird part." Alex held up the DNA sequences that Hank had given him. "Remember those semen samples that the Guild gave you, Remy? Well, they're Dad's."

Remy went pale. "I think I just threw up a little in my mouth."

"But Hank also said that with the amount of degeneration in the sample, it's got to be at least thirty years old. Now look at this." He hopped to the other side of the table and held up a personnel file. "One Michael Milbury was the delivering doctor for Katherine Summers on November 12, 1980. My birthday, Scott."

"You said that he told you he delivered you," said Scott.

"Yeah, but that's just the beginning of the point." Alex held four fingers up. "One, he's got a thirty-year-old semen sample from way before DNA was used for criminal identification. The only reason to preserve semen back then was for in vitro fertilisation which was only starting off. Two, the same company that had the semen sample is connected to Genosha. Three, one of Milbury's aliases shows up on the employment records in GDA, an investment firm in Europe. Four, Milbury delivered me, thereby having access to Dad's genetic material. Five, you just told me that SHIELD said Adam's on Genosha." He threw his hands up in the air. "It's so obvious that there's some weird conspiracy to take our DNA to help make this eugenics thing work."

"Aside from the fact that your theory is completely crazy," said Remy, "you also sound frickin' egotistical. Our DNA will help make the perfect race? Come on!"

"Well, maybe not yours," Alex retorted snidely.

"No jury on earth would convict me," Remy muttered, charging a coin.

Scott decided to skip painkillers and go straight for decapitation as a way to relieve his headache. "With the knowledge I have in my disposal, I can see some connections in your proposal, Alex and I do appreciate the work that you put into it but it's just--" He pursed his lips, searching for the proper word.

"Batshit insane?" Remy suggested.

"Yeah, that works."

Alex crossed his arms. "What are you two more pissed off at: that I figured this out by myself or that I haven't fucked up my life as much as you two've managed to in the past few months?"

"Up yours with a flaming pogo stick," said Remy at the same time that Scott said, "That has nothing to do with this conference."

"It has everything to do with this conference!" Alex yelled, his good arm windmilling. "There's some weirdo mad scientist stalking our family who threw a bomb--"

"--into your dorm room and shot you," his brothers ended.

"Well, he did."

"I'll take your movie proposal in consideration," Scott said. "You're excused, Alex. And Remy, when I'm done, I want to talk to you about Rogue's training."

"That's it?" Alex exclaimed.

Scott closed his eyes and counted to ten. "Alex, please. Later."

"I hope the uniform gives you a scrotal yeast infection," Alex snarled, punching the doorway as he stormed out.

One eyebrow quirked, Remy drawled, "Smoothly handled, Fearless Leader."

"Out, Remy." Scott pointed to the door.

With a snort and a shake of his head, Remy followed Alex out. "Woof."

As soon as the room emptied, Scott threw back another two pills. Jesus ever-loving Christ, he had a headache.


	51. Past Interlude 18, New Have, CT, 2000

**Past Interlude #18: New Haven, Connecticut - 2000**

* * *

Scott pulled his shoulders back, his vertebrae popping. Correcting midterms played hell on his good mood, even one augmented with a 3.8 GPA. 

"Remind me again: why did I agree to do this?" Warren asked, grabbing fistfuls of hair.

"The professor needs help," Scott said. "He's only got one other teacher on staff and a load of consultation work. Besides, I need the work experience for my degree."

"Well, I don't. So I repeat: why did I agree to do this?"

"You're doing it for the take-out pizza."

Warren eyed the remaining slices with a grimace. "Of course." Taking a swig of pinot noir, he said, "You do realise that by doing this you've slammed the last nail in the coffin that will forever hold you to Xavier's."

"We need teachers."

"As long as you actually want to teach." When, after a few minutes, Scott didn't reply, Warren asked, "You _do_ actually want to teach."

"I don't know," said Scott. "I've never really thought about it."

"You're getting an education degree and you're not even sure if you like teaching?"

Scott shrugged. "I don't hate teaching."

Reaching over the table-- not that wide to begin with-- Warren filled Scott's half-empty glass. "You know what your problem is, Summers?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me."

"You let people walk all over you. Xavier wants a teacher, you become a teacher. Your dad needs a babysitter, you take care of your brothers. Your brothers need a nursemaid, you come to their rescue. Try being a little selfish once in a while; it's good for you."

"I can be selfish," said Scot, frowning. "I asked you to come help me mark, didn't I?"

Warren shook his head. "And I thought we made progress since you started at Xavier's. The hell with this; if we've got to spend Friday night working, we're going to make this fun, dammit."

"Would that be like making Emma smile?"

"Emma smiles."

"Only when she's feeding on the liver of the young. Under a red moon. While shedding her skin to reveal the demon living in the hollow there her heart is supposed to be."

"Point." Undeterred, Warren announced, "What we need is a Test Marking Drinking Game."

"A drinking game?" Scott's left eyebrow went up. "Are you trying to embody the frat boy cliché or does it come naturally?"

"Shut up, Gamma Gaze. Here's one: take a drink for any nines that look like lower-case G's."

""We're going to get so wasted."

"Now you're catching on." Warren stretched his arms high above his head. "Last one conscious buys the loser the Heart Attack Special at the pub tomorrow."

"Deal," said Scott. "And Warren? Thanks for the--" His cell phone chirped, making both of them jump in surprise. Seeing Remy's private cell phone number on the display, he quickly answered it. "What's wrong?"

"Adam's missing," said Remy, as close to scared as Scott had ever heard.

He was on a plane to San Diego in the next hour.

"What happened?" Scott asked as soon as Remy picked him up, his Aston Martin's tires smoking from the hard brake.

"I don't know," Remy said. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth, its filter hopelessly chewed but left unlit in deference to Scott (or probably more accurately, the damage Scott's optic blasts could do to the car's interior if he was inclined to use them to get rid of the cigarette). "He was supposed to be home from school by dinner yesterday."

"Yesterday? And you only told me now?"

"I know knew now myself. The cops have an amber alert out. Few of them circling the neighbourhood."

"Why don't you have your gangster friends helping?"

"Why don't you have your WASP squad?"

They drove in silence all the way home. Alex claimed the single, his face drawn into a grimace as he tapped a beat out on the floor with his cleats. A detective sat with a woman who could only be Dad's current girlfriend. This one looked about Jean's age, Scott thought with disgust. Good old Dad. Where the hell was he, any way?

"He's out with the search party," said the girlfriend when Scott asked the question out loud. "Y-You're Scott right? I recognize you from the pictures."

He nodded shortly. "I can't say the same."

She flushed. "My name's Jassie. Jaspreet. You dad and I met just this year."

Tessa was last year and she'd been French. His dad's love life, as always, gave Scott a headache. He rubbed his temples. "Alex, why didn't you call as soon as Adam didn't come home?"

Alex stopped drumming his heels on the floor. "Dude, he's thirteen not three. I have my own things to do. Besides he eats dinner at his friends' houses sometimes."

"Does no one here understand the concept of cell phones?" Scott demanded, sweeping his look across the room. "Did I just buy them for you all to decorate your backpacks?"

"Well, maybe if someone wrenched himself away from his precious school every now and again, he'd be able to keep track of all three of us better," Remy shot back.

"I wouldn't talk, Mr. Week-Long Security Conference in Belgium."

"You got me all figured out, don't you?" Remy stalked to his side. Scott crossed his arms, his forehead wrinkling. "Well, I got you figured out, too, Scotty."

"Oh, do you?"

"Yeah. And y'know what? Fuck you, too."

Scott's features evened out into a mask. "You have five seconds to tell me what the hell you mean by that remark. If you can do it in less time, you get to leave without my footprint on your ass."

"You hate us," said Remy.

Scott rolled his eyes, a non-verbal reply that was no less effective for all that it was unseen. He moved from the doorway to the kitchen table and began cleaning up the used dishes.

Alex slouched into the couch. "Oh Christ, Mommy and Daddy are fighting again."

Remy waved his arms out, encompassing the room. "You got a great new place upstate, deputy headmaster to _gifted children_. You got a fiancée who's upper-middle class, older, hot, a _doctor_ that probably screams Victorian curse words in be; a best friend who owns a multi-million corporation and a private jet. Scotty, you have got a fan-fucking-tastic life! Why the hell would you need to be reminded of us? I mean," he chuckled and it was a bitterly choked sound, "we're not even worth introducing."

"You're always too busy to come up to meet her," said Scott, "and I can't just fly off to New Orleans or San Diego in the middle of the school year. Let's face it; we were never big on the holidays even when we all lived in the same house."

"You barely let her talk on the phone when I call," said Remy accusingly. "What, afraid I'd charm her away even from this far away?"

"World Remy strikes again." Scott kept clearing the table, the dishes clattering angrily as he transferred from them the countertop to the sink to the dishwasher. "_You_ barely talk to _her_ on the phone because every time you call, it's always about some insignificant problem that you managed to trip into again and again and again. And, why is it about _you_ again, anyway? You're not the injured party here. You're not around any more than I am so excuse me if I'm less than sympathetic to your dramatics."

"How can I be sympathetic if you tell me shit-ass nothing about your life? I can get why you hate Pops and me," Remy said, leaning against the wall. "You look at me and you can't stop thinking about the fact that your daddy slept with someone else while he was still married."

Alex finally stood up. "Everyone just shut up right now! Just shut the hell up, okay? You two always do this when we're in the same room! It's like fucking Jerry Springer without the cross-dressing."

They ignored him. "Alex is easy enough to clash with since he can be such an egotistical turd," said Remy.

"Fuck you, Remy."

"Shut up, Alex."

"You shut up, you himbo."

Scott slid the dishwasher closed oh so gently. Jassie was long gone and Scott was willing to bet that Dad was going to be single again real soon. Nothing like family to make you want to get the hell out of Dodge. "Both of you shut up," he said. "Adam's just being an annoying, idiot teenager but this isn't helping any."

"You deal with annoying idiot teenagers every day," Alex pointed out.

"None of them give me as much trouble as you guys." His head throbbed. He was surprised that his skull hadn't fractured with the force. Scott turned his attention to the living room. The carpet needed vacuuming. Who the hell did the vacuuming when he wasn't around? Obviously, no one.

Smirking, Remy leaned against the back of the couch. "What's that matter, Scotty? No pretty middle-aged redheads here to massage the stress-boner away?"

Scott moistened a dishcloth to wipe down the countertops.

"Maybe he's got the crone on one side and a sweet little thing on the other," he continued. "That must be why you don't hate them as much as you hate us."

"What makes you think that Dad or any of you register long enough on my radar anymore to generate hatred?" he said through gritted teeth.

Remy and Alex went silent. The room conspicuously cleared of all policemen; they were probably outside sucking down coffee and contemplating vasectomies.

In a harsh whisper, Remy said, "Fine."

Alex took a deep breath and released it in a nervous chuckle. "Oh, wow, that's a great Jerry Springer episode right there."

Scott and Remy ignored him again. "Okay, Scotty, you do me this favour," said Remy. "Help us find Adam and after that, we can be dead to you once and for all, okay, fucktard?"


	52. Earthquakes

**Earthquake**

* * *

Remy awoke with a body on his chest and a knife under his pillow. He pushed the first away and pulled out the second in one fluid movement. Hazel eyes framed by strands of white hair glimmered at the end of the pointed blade. For a second or two, he just sat there, positive he was dreaming again. 

"Rogue?" He lowered the knife. "What's up, Sugarplum?"

She kissed him. Just dove across his legs and mashed her mouth against his. It was anything but practiced; their teeth clacked together, her tongue was way too active, her knees pinched his leg and his collarbone bruised under a cold, metallic tube.

It was the best kiss Remy ever had and goddamn it if he didn't have to push her away.

After five more seconds.

"Rogue." He grabbed her shoulders and shoved her off because he knew he could never just pull away. Deep breaths. He had to take deep breaths but it was hard when Rogue was all mewing softness on his lap. Her hair smelled like peaches. Her pyjamas were peach-coloured, too and all the more sexy because they weren't intended to be.

_Jailbait, Remy_, he told his flaming sex-drive. _You're better than this. _She _deserves better than this._

"You can't be comfortable, Stripes. Let me get you a robe." Remy slid quickly out of the bed, wrapping loose bedding around his waist. That pretty much settled it; he was going to start wearing shorts to bed around here.

"I don't want a robe, Remy." Rogue rose on her knees on the bed. Her slender white fingers fumbled with pyjama buttons.

"Jesus wept, stop that!" He rushed to yank her hands away. Wait, he'd just-- "Why aren't you absorbing me?"

Rogue flicked her hair away to reveal the suppression collar. "I tested it out for Dr. McCoy, remember?"

"I also remember that you should only wear it when he's around to monitor the effects. How'd you get it out of the lab?"

"I pinched it, of course," said Rogue. She uncurled his hands from around her own. "I've worn it for three hours straight before and nothing happened."

"Three hours, huh?" Remy's erection pulled the blanket up into a tent. Closing his eyes, he turned his back to hide it. _Control yourself, goddammit_. Taking another lungful of air, Remy forced a fraternal tone into his words. "Stripes, you should really get to bed. It's one in the morning and I know you got a test tomorrow."

Rogue's lower lip trembled. Oh no, not tears. He could take anything but tears.

"You..." She hiccupped. "You want me, don't you? I've seen you look at me like... sometimes when we're alone together, it's like you're almost going to kiss me. Tonight at the club..." She glanced pointedly at the part of his blanket that was tented up. "You said you had a dream like mine before."

Remy knew his prayers wouldn't count but he had to try anyway. Pulling a bed robe from his closet, he slung it around her shoulders, making sure to hide every inch of her body. "Sugarplum, I'd be more flattered if I didn't know that you're not here for me. What in hell would a sweet young thing like you want with a geezer like me, huh?"

"You're not old," said Rogue, jerkily wiping her tears before they slid to her cheeks.

"One foot in the grave," he said cheerfully. With her seated on the foot of the bed and more sheets on his lap, Remy felt more comfortable talking. Two feet of space would be enough to keep his dick down to half-mast at the very least. "I got some snacks and all the time in the world to listen, Stripes." He reached for the third drawer in his nightstand, pulling out bags of chocolate-covered nuts, hickory sticks and jalapeno pretzels.

"I don't want you to listen," said Rogue a trifle louder than was wise. "I'm tired of boys listening. I want you to t-t-touch--" She faltered but, setting her chin at an obstinate angle, she shrugged the robe off and leaned over to slide a hand across his cheek. His whiskers caught on her skin.

Remy almost didn't pull away. "Stop that, I said!"

Snatching her hand back, Rogue bit her lip. "I'm s-sorry. I guess I thought... well, of course you wouldn't..." She curled into herself.

Her tone was so self-castigating, so bitter that Remy melted a little in his stomach. He knew what was bothering her; how could he not when they'd spent so much time together? The poor girl was starved for touch. He half-suspected the reason she liked being around him so much was because he was so free with his touches.

"Sweetheart, don't talk like that." Remy pulled her, sniffling and hiccupping, into an embrace. "You're gorgeous. You're the prettiest thing I've ever seen, you know that."

Rogue buried her face in his chest and bawled. Helplessly, he stroked her hair, rocking back and forth, hoping she'd stop crying soon because it broke his heart to see her cry. And, traitorously, wishing she'd cry a while longer because it gave him an excuse to hold her this close. Was he sick, or what?

"You know why I call you 'Peaches'?" Remy asked when she calmed down enough.

She shook her head "no."

"First time I met you, you reminded me of them," he said. "Mad as hell, cheeks all pink and smile like a summer day. Body that you just wanted to sink your teeth into, it's so ripe."

"You said before it was because I had fuzzy hair on my forehead."

"I lied." He smiled into her hair. "I do that a lot."

Rogue turned her head up. "How do I know you're not lying to me right now?"

"I swear to you, I'm not lying." He kissed the top of her head. "You seen the boys when you walk down the hall? Their eyes follow you. You don't even have to do anything; you smile and those dogs come a-panting. Hell, I have no idea why you went out with the Ice Cube."

Her breath caught again. "Bobby... Bobby and Jubilee slept together. When they were in SHIELD. I heard them talking and they... they were kissing in the locker rooms."

Ah, so that was the problem. She was looking to validate her attractiveness. "He's not good enough for you," said Remy, wondering how and when to leave timed charges in Drake's underwear. "He's not even close."

With a crooked half-smile, Rogue settled her cheek back in its nook under his chin. "I wish I didn't have this power."

"Don't say that," said Remy sharply. "You think a girl who can learn to do a cat-grab in a month won't be able to control her power soon?"

"Maybe that girl's power-retarded."

"Shut your mouth; that's my partner you're talking about."

They sat like that for a while longer until with Remy stroking her back and her stroking his, breathing in unison. He could imagine staying like this all night if he needed to. He did _not_ imagine her lips on his chest, slowly travelling along his collarbone to his neck.

His brain screamed all sorts of obscenities against his pitiful morals, his over-large sex drive and his gutter-stained genealogical origins but his blood thundered so hard that he couldn't make it out.

"Rogue."

One of the hands stroking his back didn't stop on the up stroke, just kept going up and up to play with the hair at just above his nape.

"Rogue, what you're feeling isn't really--"

She whispered his name in his ear just before biting softly on the lobe, her teeth catching on an earring.

Oh, Jesus Christ and all his angels in Heaven, Hell and South Dakota. "Marie." His voice was strangled. "I'm not good enough for you either."

Rogue sucked lightly on a tendon just under his jaw.

"Someone good enough--" She shifted on his lap and Remy let out a groan as her knee brushed his stomach. "Someone good enough would kick you out right now."

Rogue rose, still kissing his neck and jaw, slipping one leg over his thigh so she straddled him. Remy clutched her hips and bent his leg just enough to press against the vee of her thighs. She moaned, rocking inelegantly. He moaned with her.

"Someone good enough wouldn't do this." He snuck his hands under Rogue's shirt, touching that soft, soft skin, skin he knew was pale as ivory and more sensual than mink. "He would've... he would've made you a mocha and dried your tears and he would have waited."

She was reaching around, under his arms and down, tracing the ridges and valleys of his back. His spine was on fire, the heat pooling down to his erection.

"I..." Remy nuzzled her neck. She had the most elegant neck in the world. Vampires had wet dreams about that neck. Suckling on her earlobe, he slid his hands to her front. Rogue bucked against him, letting out a breathy little sound that did nothing to quash his bad intentions. "I shouldn't..." He had to taste her skin once more before he continued. "I am going to a special hell for doing this."

He cupped her breasts. Rogue arched back, her nipples pebbling against his palms, her hands digging into his shoulders. Remy opened his eyes-- they'd been closed?-- and watched her. Watched her full lower lip go deep red as her little crooked front teeth bit down on it. Watched her body roll, pelvis rubbing on his leg and her breasts on his hands, the movement dripping with feline grace. Watched her eyes flutter, her short but thick lashes black against pale cheeks.

"Jesus wept." He shook his head. "Last chance, Peaches. Get out of here or we're both going to take a hot ride in a handbasket carried by the Devil himself."

She touched his lips. "You always talk this much in bed?"

"Can't get me to shut up."

"I'm betting I could try." Her hand snaked down to the half-forgotten blanket he'd wound around his waist.

He didn't stop her.

He didn't want to. Special hells likely had all the interesting people anyway.

Cool night air kissed his skin. He heard her breath catch upon seeing him just bare like that. He was no Ron Jeremy but if Rogue's only experience were fumbling boys like Drake, chances were she'd never seen a cock plain. Her touch was too light, too tentative but Remy thanked her for it. If she knew how to do this properly, he'd never last long.

He slipped his hands out from under her shirt but, just as she started to protest, he kissed her. Jesus, he'd been waiting forever for that kiss. He tilted her head to one side, showing her where the noses should go, tugging her arms around his waist to show her what else her hands should do. He had to go slow. He was a dick but damned if he was going to be an inconsiderate dick.

"Let's take this off, Sugarplum." Remy tugged on the cotton pyjama top.

Smiling knowingly, Rogue undid the buttons but left the two panels just hanging there. "Someone good enough would help a girl out."

He lay his hand, palm down, between her breasts. He could feel her heart pumping like mad despite her sure words. He kissed the little pulse shivering just over the collar as his hand wandered south. Salt and peach met his tongue. She made the sweetest sounds, sighs that hit just the right chord in that part of his brain that controlled his cock. They kissed again. She tasted tart here, like the first fruit crop warmed by the sun in the morning but still strong enough to withstand a night frost.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered, tugging on masses of brown hair. "Tell me what you like, sweetheart. I'll do it. I'll do anything for you."

"I... I don't know," she replied, dazed. "I've never really... I don't know what's right."

That gave him a pause. "You've never done this before?" he asked, going for a concerned tone when what he really wanted to do was crow.

She shook her head, letting her hair cover her face. "How could I?" she whispered.

"Hell, Peaches, there are ways around..." He stopped, thinking belatedly that those words might not be well received right now. He parted the white curtain of her bangs, framing her face with his hands and tilting her chin up so they could talk eye-to-eye. "Forget what I said, Sugarplum. That's nothing to be ashamed of, all right? It ain't. I just want to make sure you really want to do this with me. You never forget your first and I don't want to be someone you try to forget."

Rogue turned her head so that her lips touched his thumb. "I'm sure. You're my partner. Partners share everything, remember?" Smiling nervously, she added, "What if I mess up so badly that _you_ try to forget?"

He cupped the base of her skull in one hand and pulled her body closer with the other. "Never." Releasing her face, he led her hands around his wrists. "Show me, sweetheart. If it feels good, it's right."

She licked her lips and said, "I liked this." Rogue positioned one of his hands on the curve of her stomach where her navel played peek-a-boo with her pyjama bottoms.

Obediently, Remy caressed that patch of skin. She was so perfect right then. Her scent-- peaches, soap and musk-- spiralled around his senses. Her hair was a wild thing, crackling all round them, draped down her back and across her shoulders, plastered on one breast and some reaching out to his face. His hand slipped lower over her pants, lower and lower and, when she still didn't protest, he flicked a finger across her clit.

Rogue cried out, stiffening, her arms braced against his. He froze, waiting for a signal to go further or pull back. She rocked her pelvis against his finger.

Further then.

Remy strummed her again, avidly memorizing every sound she made, every little movement. She went for his cock but with her eyes closed, she damaged more than she aroused. Curling away from those flatteringly eager hands, Remy chuckled. "Whoa, sweetheart, watch where you're going."

Her lips were red now as were her cheeks and her breasts blushed deep pink. "Sorry."

"It's okay, just take it slow." He kissed the tip of her nose. "We got plenty of time, Sugarplum."

"Yeah, I'm just... uh... I don't know what..." Rogue's hands fluttered in the air, trying to describe what she couldn't say. "Erm, I thought... both hands seemed...? Oh, gawd, I'm no good at this," she said, letting her hair cover her face again.

"Hey, now, none of that." Tipping her head back, he strummed her plump lips. "You're doing great, Peaches. You're so damned pretty. So damned lovable. I could do this all night." He drew her higher up on his lap. "Touch me any way you want, sweetheart. I am your piece of meat."

Rogue playfully splayed her fingers over his pecs and gave them a squeeze as her laughter chased most of the uncertainty from her eyes. Remy was glad. There was nothing sexier than Rogue when she went all sassy on him.

Leaning back on his pillows, he put his weight on his elbows, stretching his body out for Rogue's perusal. He fluttered his lashes. "I like long walks on the beach, reading poetry and-- uuuuuunnngggh!-- eating fudge sundaes with the woman of my dreams!"

"Stop it!" Rogue smacked him, quick little stings all over his shoulders, giggling all the while. "You're such a ham."

"All for you, Peaches." He sat up, gathered her in his arms and peppered her face with kisses between words. "All. For. You."

She stretched her arms around his neck so her breasts flattened against his chest. He couldn't stop kissing her, couldn't stay away from that mouth of hers, those damned plump little lips that'd been hollering at him since he rode back into this dusty old place.

He positioned her right over his lap so his erection rubbed up against the wet spot on her pants. They stayed like that, rocking and necking until Rogue's scent grew so strong it was all Remy could do not to dive between her legs and taste her. She was tensing up, her breaths coming in faster and a little ragged, rubbing a little more desperately against his cock. She shifted her hips to lower her pants around her thighs. He followed it down, slipping his fingers through damp curls and slick folds of skin to stroke her. Her jaw dropped open. Remy took that opportunity to kiss her again. Rogue's kisses were better than cayenne.

"More," she whimpered when he finally he eased a finger inside her. "Please, more."

Despite her plea, he stroked her with one finger a little while longer. She was really tight and he was scared stupid of hurting her. He'd rather get her off like this than hurt her with the real thing.

"Wait," she gasped a minute later, lifting her hips slightly. Silently cursing, Remy withdrew and prepared to apologize but Rogue, bless her goddamned sexy heart, slid both hands down his chest, past his stomach and searched for his erection.

"You're okay?" he asked when she had a firm hold on him.

She nodded tucking her head in his shoulder and angling her hips towards his hand, shyly kissing his neck and collarbone again and whispering "More" as she fondled him from base to tip.

"More," he whispered in turn. Her fist tightened around him, stroking faster and even dipping between her own legs for more lubrication. He found her sweet spot, a little spongy bit an inch or so into her and played with that using two fingers now.

The next few minutes were a blur of hands and tongues and cloth and hair and lips. Everything was thick and hot, even his blood felt like lava. Seeing Rogue naked like an inverted silhouette in his room, knowing he could touch all that white skin-- it was like a smorgasbord to the senses and he was a starving man. He sampled a little bit of everything: read the Braille of her goosebumps, licked the sweat beading at her hips, hunted down the places that made her tremble. He tried to compensate for every moment of touch she missed out on for nearly a year. His entire body shook, straining and shivering for release but she had to get there first. He was going to wait until she got there first and then, goddamn, he was going to burst all over her hand.

"Remy." He barely heard her speak. "Inside."

"Sweetheart." He wanted to say that it was too soon and he really _was_ too old for her and that maybe when this was all over, she'd feel dirty if they went all the way there but she was rising on her knees and he felt her at the tip of his cock all wet softness and she whispered "More" again like it was a mantra.

Remy had just enough presence of mind to grab a string of condoms out of his nightstand and throw it on the pillow. A harsh curse broke their muted movements as he tore one condom straight through followed by another curse when she rolled a new one over him and then-- God, thank you finally!-- she slid down on him and he was inside her-- had he prepared her enough?-- and it felt like everything was squeezing down and around and he couldn't breathe, she was so tight and--

Remy bucked against her once, twice, before rolling to the other side of the bed. Rogue instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. That just drove him deeper. Rogue grunted; Remy bared his teeth and hissed.

Bracing his arms on either side of her head, he asked, "You okay? Doesn't hurt?" and prayed that she was okay and wasn't hurt because if he had to stop, he was going to die. He was going to have to go to the bathroom and jerk his dick straight off.

"I'm fine," she said huskily. "It just feels a little... weird."

Remy laughed then groaned as the movement did something really nice to his erection. "Weird, huh? First time I ever heard that." She blushed again, her shyness returning but Remy kissed it away. "It's nice. Honest. I like it."

"Honesty, huh?" Rogue licked her lips. "Honestly then, c-can you give me a second? It feels really... full. Like something's trying to go up my throat from... uh... below." She wriggled her hips.

He dropped his head on her shoulder and made a guttural sound.

She wiggled again, the tease. He made her stop still simply by pushing in deeper and pressing down. "Behave, you little river rat, or else I'm going to get real embarrassed and you're going to get real frustrated."

"Sorry." She kissed his temple. "I'm okay. Really. The weird is over now."

"You're sure?"

She nodded. "We can keep going."

"Peaches, we've been going since you walked through that door." He leaned down to kiss her cheek but she pulled away to lever her hips upward at the same time and they went nowhere in terms of intercourse but racked up points in the bruising department.

"Whoops! Sorry! I'm sorry!"

"No, it's okay, let me just..." Resting his weight on one arm, Remy hooked one of her legs over his shoulder. That angle should relieve a little of the pressure. He slid his free hand between their bodies. "Hold on, I'm just going to help it feel a little better."

"Oh! Ah, ah, tickling! Tickling!"

"Jesus wept, that feels... I gotta tickle you in bed more. How 'bout this?"

Rogue mewed as he flicked his fingers against her.

"Right button."

"Shush and kiss me, swamp rat."

Endless, beautiful minutes later, when her jaw stiffened and her toes curled, Remy thrust in earnest. Soon, he couldn't form words if his life depended on it. He felt his whole body tightening: his face pulling up into a grimace, his balls lifting and his throat closing in on the undoubtedly animalistic sounds coming out of his mouth.

As he came, he felt her arms wrap around his shoulders and her legs lock around his waist and her lips over his heart.

* * *

Adam screamed as yet another person landed on his leg. He curled up, gagging with pain. Oh Christ, that had been a stupid move. Sure, it was heroic to let Gav leave and act as bait for the sticks but now he was just scared and in pain. There were others injured; moans and cries and various body fluids slicked the floor. The person beside him hadn't moved in hours. 

For the first time since he was taken, Adam _knew_ he was going to die here.


	53. PART IV, OCTOBER: Waking Nightmare

**Waking Nightmare**

* * *

Sunshine poked through the heavy curtains, determined to wake up the bed's occupants. Unable to ignore the real world any more, Remy rolled over the edge of the bed, dragging his hands through his hair. 

Fact: He'd slept with Rogue.

Item one: She was only seventeen. That was eleven years younger than him. Bad.

Item two: Technically, she was legal. Good.

Item three: That still made her only as old as Adam. Bad.

Item four: She was his partner, was _supposed_ to be a sister type. Bad.

Item five: She approached him and initiated everything. Good.

Item six: He didn't know how it could be possible being that it was their first together but the sex was fantastic. Very Good.

Item seven: He knew how hormonal people were at that age and since he was older; he should have known better. Bad.

Item eight: That last statement sounded like something Scott would say. Very bad.

Deciding this was way too early to mentally whip himself, he pushed the topic from his mind. He turned back towards the bunched up sheets and leaned over to wake Rogue up. Tangles of brown hair and flashes of pale skin played hide-and-seek with the bed linens. Remy caught himself admiring a love bite on her arm.

"Rise and shine, Peaches," Remy whispered, running his fingers through Rogue's hair, fanned out on the pillow. She didn't answer. Sliding the blanket off her shoulders, he tapped her lightly. The minute he touched her, he knew something was wrong. Rogue's skin was clammy and cold to the touch. Her hands were like icicles.

"Stripes?" Remy rolled her over. No response. He shook her gently. "Rogue, sweetheart, wake up. It's morning and you got to sneak out of here before breakfast."

She didn't even snore. Remy shook her again, harder this time. "Peaches? C'mon, sweetheart, don't do this." He grabbed both her shoulders and shook her until her head lolled violently on the pillow. Still no movement-- Jesus, he wasn't even sure she was breathing! As he searched her carotid artery for a pulse, Remy saw a faint bruise just visible under the collar.

The collar.

Oh, shit.

* * *

The last time Adam counted out the minutes was when he first woke up in the tanks. That was months ago, maybe even years ago; he never could keep track of time in here. He had a morbid but accurate way of counting now: for every minute that passed, he daubed a bit of blood on the floor and for every hour, he smeared sixty of the daubs together. Five smears decorated the floor; he hadn't tracked the hours immediately after being captured nor the hours when he passed out. 

His leg didn't hurt any more but Adam was sure that was because of shock. Hell, he could probably have an entire movie made out of his life when he got out of here. Adam chuckled hysterically to himself. Hopefully they'd pick someone hot to play him.

The door crackled open. Adam shielded his eyes from the brightness. No one cried out; they were all too whipped. Or they were passed out. Or they were dead. Jesus, he was getting really gruesome. Pretty soon he'd be just like the emokids in theatre that his own acting friends made fun of, all angst and no craft.

"CA-III-ASR3," a guard called out.

Adam curled into a ball and hoped no one would see him past the other bodies but luck failed him again. His collar beeped to life, leading two other guards to his corner of the cell. It occurred to him that if the guards could reactivate his collar, then they must have been able to reactivate Gav's and maybe he hadn't gotten off the island after all and he'd sacrificed himself for nothing and his brothers would never find him now and…

Adam took a ragged breath.

Okay.

Calming. Down.

Gloved hands yanked him up, indifferent to his injuries. He barely stifled a howl, managing a nasal growl instead as the guards dragged him out of the cell. The hallway lights stabbed his eyes after hours (days? weeks?) of the dark but the air didn't stick of soured wounds. If Adam never smelled body odour again, it would be too soon. He could feel another OCD coming on-- hourly showers and deodorant application.

With his head spinning, Adam couldn't track where they took him. His first coherent thought was "Nice rug" as they released him and he crumpled down. His next one was "I hate Mozart" when his brain picked out the annoyingly high-pitched aria from "The Magic Flute." One of his dad's girlfriends loved Mozart and tortured him with countless hours of "The Magic Flute." Adam wondered if this was a new form of torture and, if so, then his injury was a godsend because it made chewing his leg off to escape that much easier.

"ASRIII." Adam knew that voice. That was the freaky British voice from way back when, the one that ordered him into the third floor. "I suppose I should view this as support to my current hypothesis but bureaucracy, as always, dampens my enthusiasm somewhat."

Shiny wing-tipped Oxfords appeared inches from Adam's nose. He didn't try to curl out of foetal position; seeing that freaky mask-like face was going to break him. Again.

"Put him on the table," said British dude. "Gently," he added with a sharp tone as the guards hauled Adam upright.

He averted his face. Couldn't see the freaky face. Nope.

"You've damaged your leg quite badly," the British dude said as the guards strapped him down on an examination table. Latex snapped against flesh. This table had padding and a tissue cover like in a doctor's clinic but that didn't make it any less scary. "I couldn't quite make up my mind whether to let you rot for destroying my lab or bring you in immediately to tend to your injury. In the end, I compromised. Compromise is a sign of social evolution, do you not agree?"

Adam clamped his teeth around his lips for the pain as much as to keep from talking. The guards were taking the shreds of his suit off and they weren't bothering to be gentle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the source of the freaky British voice come closer. He clenched his eyes shut, too.

Something pricked his skin. Adam should have been used to injections but in the raw area of his wound? He cried out-- he couldn't help but cry out-- and hated the jagged, sobbing gasp that he had to take afterward.

"This is a general painkiller," said the freaky British voice. "I will also administer a heavy anaesthetic to the area before I mend your leg. You have lost a great deal of blood and much of the flesh around the wound has undergone necrosis. It will have to be replaced else you'll suffer a terrible limp."

Cold seeped up to Adam's hips. He should have been glad to get rid of the pain but now he was just scared of not feeling it any more. He was strapped down and at the mercy of someone who was-- if not the boss-- then pretty damn high up there. The guy could cut his leg off and he wouldn't even know it.

"It is a fast-acting anaesthetic," continued Freaky Brit. "There. You don't feel that at all, do you?"

No. No, Adam couldn't and he really wanted to open his eyes just to make sure the guy wasn't holding a chainsaw.

Then again, if he opened his eyes, he'd see how bad his leg was.

On the third hand, life couldn't get worse.

Adam opened his eyes.

To say that Freaky Brit had a lifeless face would be implying that it was expressionless when in fact it pulled itself onto smiles and frowns and grimaces and smirks just like other humans. At that moment, he was smiling but it felt wrong. Adam's theatre experience dictated that this person wasn't comfortable enough in his role and didn't dedicate himself to his persona. Adam's instinct, however, told him that this was no role. The man didn't feel emotions. That was why the smile on his face looked absolutely gross.

"Hello. I am Dr. Essex."

Adam's nostrils flared. That tone was supposed to be comforting, he bet.

"I have set many broken limbs so you have no need for concern," continued Essex. "You're fortunate. Although the wound is open, the actual fracture is incomplete. The bullet must have just nicked the femur and caused enough stress to crack one side. I would be more worried about the muscle loss."

He felt the slightest pressure just above his knee.

"On any other operating table, you would have been given strong painkillers, a skin graft and five years of physiotherapy." Essex's lips curved up again. "Not here. I have perfected a muscle graft. We'll simply grow your leg muscles back. How's that for progress?"

Adam wondered if he'd finally reached the limits of stress. He was actually feeling a little like yawning and his hands lost their deathgrip on the sides of the table.

"Seeding the muscle fibres should only take two hours. After we attach the primary graft onto your damaged muscles, it will be a matter of hormonal shaping. It is actually much more difficult to tell tissue to stop growing than it is to start them off."

Essex's hands came down on Adam's leg. Despite himself, Adam shut his eyes. He couldn't watch this. If he fixed the break, great; if he cut it off, lousy, but he couldn't stand to see that guy's hands on him. Pressure shot up his leg, making him clench his teeth.

"This break," said Essex, "would require nothing more than a cast but since we're in a hurry, I'll inject it with a growth enhancer. It _will_ hurt once the anaesthetic wears off but only in the sense that you'll feel rather sick. A matter of the enhancer stripping your body of a lot of calcium in a short amount of time, I'm afraid. I'll make note to enrich your nutrients with calcium to replenish your stores. By this time tomorrow, you won't even see a frature in an X-ray."

A faint, metallic smell reached Adam's nose. He wrinkled his face and turned away.

"I've rarely seen so quiet a patient," Essex said. The pressure wasn't as bad but now Adam felt something pouring over his leg, kind of cold if doped up nerves were anything to go by. "Tell me, did you damage your vocal cords as well as your legs? You prattle well enough according to my sources." Something made of glass clinked on something made of metal around the region of Adam's hip. "Or perhaps it's the company. I wouldn't blame you for not trusting me. After all, as far as you know, I kidnapped and tortured you for no good reason when that is the farthest from the truth. I have a very good reason for bringing you here, Adam."

Adam couldn't help but open his eyes. Essex knew his name? Just how much of did the security cameras get in the cells?

Then he made the mistake of looking down, away from Essex's face. Translucent white ovals wriggled in the open wound, like animated grains of rice.

"Phaenicia sericata." Essex picked one up with a pair of tweezers. It twisted and curled grotesquely between the stainless steel prongs. "Larvae of the blow fly. Commonly known as maggots. Perfectly evolved eating machines and nothing modern science has come up with can compete with its proficiency in debridement. Some things cannot be improved upon, I suppose but we continue to try."

Carefully, he placed the maggot on a ragged, blackened spine of tissue close to Adam's hip. Maybe the drugs had hallucinogens but Adam swore the last sound he heard before passing out was that maggot chewing on his flesh.

* * *

Hank woke up to the pounding and rattling of his door as someone attempted to kick it down. He fumbled for his glasses, instantly awake in a way that bespoke of his many hours as an ER doctor and the many more years of residency before that. 

"What is it?" he asked, opening the door.

Remy stood with one leg poised to kick the door again, carrying Rogue in his arms. She was limp, covered only in a sheet and her lips had an alarming white ring. "She was like this when I woke up," he said.

Taking her from the younger man's arms, Hank said, "Follow me. Quickly."

Hank McCoy stood at five foot and ten and was easily three hundred pounds due to his mutation but that was pure muscle. He could run down the stairs with as much speed as any of the students; more if he thought the situation warranted it. He made it to the sublevel elevator down the hall in three seconds and ran from the elevator to the medical lab in under ten. Remy panted at his heels.

Gently, Hank laid her on the examination table then pulled on a pair of gloves. "Tell me exactly what happened."

"I woke up and she wasn't moving. Barely breathing," Remy said. "She's had the collar on all night."

Hank was too busy cataloguing symptoms to really take in the implications of Remy's words at first. Pulse slow. Circulation low. Breathing laboured. He patted her body down gently for any further injuries. "Wore the collar all..." A light switched on. "You had intercourse." Hank said flatly. "How long ago?"

Remy squirmed. "Uh... one or two in the morning? And then again maybe around four."

Hank's brows furrowed. He tapped the suppression collar on Rogue's neck. "You might want to let her hand go. It's going to hurt once I take this off."

Remy released Rogue's hand but he didn't step back. He was preternaturally still, his chest barely moving when he breathed. Hank fitted an oxygen mask over Rogue's mouth and nose then, with that secure, he unlocked the suppression collar.

The med-lab doors slid open to accept Scott, Professor Xavier and Logan who was still dirty from his escape.

"It would ease my mind if you under go a physical," the professor was saying. "There's no telling what SHIELD gave you while--"

He stopped abruptly as Logan froze. Logan took one sniff at Rogue's naked form on the bed then at Remy clad only in ratty sweat-shorts. The rumbling deep in his chest became a full-throated roar by the time he leapt, his claws out and aimed unerringly for Remy's throat.

Remy ducked just in time, scrambling away with the less grace than usual. He grabbed for something-- anything!-- to charge up.

"You fucking bastard!" Logan chased him around the bed. "I told you what would happen if you touched her."

"Logan, not in my clinic," said Hank sharply. "If you damage anything, I won't be able to help Rogue."

"What's wrong?" asked Xavier.

Hank turned to Remy who had one hand behind his back, hiding half a dozen tongue depressors. "Correct me if I'm mistaken but Rogue has had a suppression collar on for at least eight hours." At Remy's curt nod, he continued, "As the Professor and Scott know from my last brief, suppression collars work by sending a small electric pulses through the nervous system which block synaptic knobs from certain neurotransmitters. These neurotransmitters are usually triggers for our powers."

He turned his head towards Remy, his features growing stern. "The more you use your powers, the more the collars fight against it by sending stronger electric pulses. Eventually, they can disrupt the entire nervous system. If you have been... If Rogue has effectively been triggering her power for eight hours consecutively, the effect is similar to electrocution."

"Oh. Shit." Remy said with feeling.

"Quite."

* * *

_All right! It's the last section of the Big-Ass Fic everybody! thank you to all the readers, including, but not limited to 4Rogue, baru-chan, BJ2,DG, IcedBlaze, ishandahalf, naemesis, Neurotic Temptress, NeverMagpie, PeanutButter1,RonWealsey1975, Sareh and TooTicklish. An especially big fat thank you to everyone who gave feedback on Chapter 52. I might have mentioned in my replies that I'm a little new (and therefore neurotic) at writing love scenes and your comments really helped. Enjoy the conclusion! _


	54. Apesh:t

**Apeshit**

* * *

If Adam added up all the times he'd blacked out, he was pretty sure it'd come to a month. Maybe one day, he'd just stay in the black. It was fuzzy there. Warm. No hot, sociopathic nudists sleeping with him for information. No crazy British scientists poking at his insides. No brothers nagging him with post-it notes. 

However, the black didn't have Vin Diesel in a Trans-Am. And it didn't have popcorn chicken and T-bone steaks rare enough to still be mooing. The black definitely didn't have masturbation and if there was one thing Adam couldn't live without, it was masturbation. So he'd just have to pop back into consciousness.

His leg shrieked with pain.

Adam gasped.

Okay, maybe he didn't have to _pop_ back into consciousness. He should have slid into consciousness. Snuck up on consciousness wearing socks. _Eased_ into consciousness holding a gift basket in apology for whatever it was that he'd done to consciousness that made consciousness want to soak his leg in habanero sauce and eat it.

Adam's vocal cords swam through the pain to register that Adam wanted to scream.

Which he did. Loudly.

"Oh, of all the--" Essex's voice buzzed through the pain. Moments later, the pain went away and Adam was so happy, he'd cheerfully give Essex the damned leg if he wanted it as long as he promised to never, ever, ever let the painkillers run out. "I apologize for that," Essex said. "My assistant must not have administered the proper amount. It is quite difficult to train them properly, don't you think?"

"Ungh-ah-eeeee," Adam gibbered.

He faded out again because after that little incident, Adam would sacrifice popcorn chicken and the Trans Am without regrets for a few more hours of numbness.

The next time he work up, Adam uncurled from a pretty comfortable pillow. Soon afterward, he took in the heavy quilt tucked snugly around him, the plush mattress, and the womb-like warmth of the room. He turned, eyes still closed, and felt for the edges. His hands bent limply on either side; it was a double-bed then.

He rolled over on his back.

Wait...

He'd been on his stomach?

Eyes still shut, Adam gingerly felt out his thigh. Slick plastic and thick padding gave under his fingers but even as he braced himself for the habanero pepper pain again, he only felt pressure and solid muscle.

He pondered the futility of opening his eyes. Someone was bound to knock him out right after. Hell, he probably missed a birthday, he was out cold so often.

A door to his right hissed open. Essex walked in without his lab coat this time. His suit was nice; tailored, luxury-brand nice and Adam would know all about tailoring and luxury brands because he'd spent many a night fantasizing about magazine models in said suits.

"You're awake again. Good. I hope the accommodations are to your liking." He checked something beeping beside the bed and turned a few knobs on the headboard. "Despite our backers' haranguing, I am quote particular about mattresses for you and your companions. Sleep is quite necessary for the body's immune system as well as its repair functions. There are countless studies of the repercussions of sleep deprivation which, I'm certain, you are not quite as keen to learn about." Essex's lips turned up. "Such are the youth. I would highly encourage further studies for you, boy. Such heights you could reach given the proper incentives."

Adam turned his face away and closed his eyes.

"You must still be cross with me. I suppose I warrant a bit of it but you will soon see otherwise." More tapping and shuffling occurred around the medical equipment. "Someone will come in with food in a few hours. If you can hold that down, you will be permitted to access the cafeteria as long as you do not exert yourself. The last thing I want is for you to relapse."

"What _do_ you want?" The question burst out of Adam's chest. He was so sick of _everything_-- the kidnapping, the experiments, the Resistants, the whole twisted secrecy of it all. Then to have this guy come in pretending to be some weirdo caring uncle when he was probably the reason Adam was in this freakin' hell hole to begin with? It was all too goddamn much!

Essex folded his hands and said lightly, "I want you, Adam. I want your talents, your gifts, your uniqueness. I want to show you how powerful you are and how to use that power to you advantage."

Laughter trickled out of Adam mouth. He couldn't help it. He had cracked completely now. His chuckles became guffaws and soon, he was laughing so hard, his body shook. Through his tears, he saw Essex watching him, his expression unreadable. For some reason, that struck Adam as even more hilarious. He rolled into his side and howled.

"Are you quite finished?" asked Essex when Adam calmed down to mere wheezes.

"No. It's just... when you said... when you said 'I want you' like... like some soap star. With the pause and everything." Adam threw an arm over his mouth in a failed attempt to stifle any more sounds. "Oh, God, my life is ridiculous."

"On the contrary, it is very special indeed."

"I bet you say that to everyone you kidnap, torture and jerk off with a computer."

Essex tented his fingers and tucked them under his chin. "Believe it or not, you are safer here than anywhere else in the world. Here, we encouraged your gifts and did all we could to raise them to their full potential. Do you know of the world outside? How persecuted mutants are?"

"Because it's heaven here," Adam shot back.

"It is if you are strong. We are but a microcosm of the outside world where just such a revolution is taking place."

"What revolution?"

"Why, the fight for the planet. At this very moment, evolution is acting upon the human population, imposing forces upon it-- tidal waves, earthquakes, man-made disasters-- that will guarantee that only the fittest phenotypes survive. Those who not only have the powers to survive world-wide decimation but the mental ability to adapt under stress. You have more than proven your worth."

"My worth." More chuckles threatened to escape his chest but Adam manfully quashed them. "Great. Can I get my secret decoder ring and go already?"

One of Essex's eyebrow rose. "You doubt my sincerity."

"Dude, I doubt your sanity. Are you hearing yourself? The world is going to end! The fittest must survive! Drink this Kool-Aid!"

Essex shook his head slowly. "That is precisely what I mean. That fire in the face of defeat. You brothers could not do the same."

"What the hell do you know about my brothers?" Adam demanded.

"I know they aren't here despite their many varied resources."

Adam couldn't say anything to that.

"And even if they were here, do you think they'd understand what you've had to do to survive? You've killed, Adam. There are corpses, both human and mutant, in the morgue, burnt from the inside out. Oh, certainly you did what had to be done to survive but would your brothers see it that way? Or would they simply see a killer?"

"Shut up."

"With us, you need not fear such recriminations. We understand survival here. That is why I chose you above them all, you see. I knew that you were different from them."

"I said, shut up!" Adam rose on his elbows, wishing he had super-fast healing instead of energy powers because he'd love to get free and wrap his hands around that wacko's neck and squeeze until he became one of the morgue residents. As soon as that thought formed, Adam's breath caught. Oh, Jesus... he didn't mean... he wasn't a killer. He wasn't. "I'm not a killer," he said aloud, making that hope an incantation.

"You are a winner," Essex said softly.

"But I got shot--"

"In the attempt to attain the mission. And attain it you did. One of your number managed to escape."

The door hissed open. Someone walked in, someone with buzzed red hair, a painfully beautiful body and an unmistakable pride in his stride. GA-V-DRA7 turned, smiled and inclined his head. "Hello, Adam."

* * *

Scott could only remember two times he'd been this angry. The first was when he found out that the drunk driver who killed his mom and gave him brain damage walked away with a five thousand dollar fine and a bruised shin. The next was when he realised that Jean had every intention of killing herself to save them from the burst dam. Both times he'd yelled, as if bellowing could augment the force of an optic blast or a punch or anything that could purge this roiling, choking, burning _anger_ that threatened to reach out from his guts and squeeze his head. 

He couldn't seem to yell this time. The whole day while Rogue was in critical care, he visited only once. He hadn't trusted himself with his temper and the last thing the students needed right now was their teacher going apeshit. To top it off, Remy had disappeared for most of the day to who knew where. When Remy decided to disappear, no one could find him,

"If that brother of yours ran," Logan had growled as the lunch bell rang, "I'm going to find him and hurt him for a very long time."

Scott couldn't answer then and he couldn't answer now. Nor could he get feedback from Warren. He'd been having a digital conference in his room for the past five hours. That he _had_ to take this conference whereas he foisted most others did not escape Scott's notice. He sucked at communicating with every goddamn person in his life but he wasn't completely clueless. He wished Jean was--

Shit.

At around dinner time. Remy skulked in through the kitchen door. He never made a sound when he walked; the only reason Scott spotted him was because he'd been in the pantry. Cigarette smoke still clung to Remy's coat-- where did he get that trenchcoat anyway?-- and beer scented his breath.

Scott remembered all over again why his head felt like it wanted to explode.

With impeccable timing as always, Alex walked into the kitchen, an empty bottle of ketchup in hand. "Oh shit."

Remy didn't say a thing. Scott inhaled, opened his mouth to say something and exhaled. Words wouldn't form. The roiling, choking, burning anger had melted the speech sections of his brain. He headed for his office.

Remy trailed behind him, his cards hissing and snapping between his hands, a nervous shuffling that anyone else would take as nonchalance. Well, he damn well better be nervous. He'd better be pissing his goddamned pants after what he'd done.

Christ.

Remy had...

His own brother... to _Rogue_.

Like a shield-bearer, Alex marched to one side, strategically between him and Remy. He must just be patting himself on the back, thought Scott. All those warnings that he'd waved off from Warren, Ororo and Narda, all the times he'd told Alex to stop haranguing him with accusations against Remy and they'd been true.

They followed him into the office, Alex shutting the door quietly behind him and throwing the bolt. Remy sank into the nearest chair, boneless grace and radiating guilt.

Good.

Let him fucking stew.

Scott opened his mouth again but he was still too furious to form words. He stood behind the desk, knuckles on the blotter, and glared. It was a miracle the ruby quartz lens didn't shatter with the force of his glare.

Alex coughed and shifted his weight to his right foot.

Scott glared.

Remy scratched at his shoulder, the leather jacket creaking.

Scott glared.

Alex shifted his stance back to his left foot.

Scott glared.

Remy cracked first. "I... I didn't think--"

"No, you didn't!" Scott was finally able to shout. "You never think about anything! You just act completely without forethought or consideration of the consequences. You're just... so much like Dad I can barely look at you!"

Remy looked to Alex for back-up but his younger brother leaned away, his arms crossed. "As much as it pains me to agree with Scott, that _was_ utterly uncool, Remy. I told you she was jailbait."

"I've never touched her before last night," Remy said but even he didn't sound convinced about the excuse.

"I don't give a shit! She's only seventeen! You're twenty-eight! You're a fucking gangster; you should know the definition of statuatory rape."

"Technically, it's not--"

"She's one of my students, Remy and I fucking trusted you to have some goddamned responsibility towards her but hell, why am I talking to you about that? Since when have you been able to spell _responsibility_ never mind understand what the _fucking_ word means?"

Even Alex winced at the tone. "Uh, Scott..."

Scott whipped around to snarl, "You shut the fuck up, too."

For once, Alex obediently backed down.

"Do you have any reason why I shouldn't throw you in a room with Wolverine and let him carve his name in your guts?"

If Scott had been waiting for a glib reply, he was disappointed. Remy squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head and said, "No."

"What?"

Remy raised his head and said louder, if not any straighter, "I don't got an excuse."

"Dandy," said Scott. Poison dripped from every syllable. "He can have you as soon as I'm finished."

_Scott_. Xavier projected so urgently that Alex and Remy cupped their hands over their ears. _I need you in my office right now. Remy and Alex, too. We have a visitor._

Remy sighed, relieved at the timely reprieve. Hearing it, Scott threw him another glare and said, "Don't think we're done here."

"I feel like I should've saluted," he heard Alex whisper to Remy as they went to Xavier's office.

Remy was smart enough not to answer, at least not using words.

The kid in Xavier's office looked like a ginger tom from the streets. His hair was buzzed to a prickly red fuzz and his eyes were so big and blue that he should have looked like he was barely in high school. But his body was too toughened to be that innocent and there were shadows in his gaze that made Alex look away in discomfort.

"Perhaps you can help me," said Xavier. He was unnaturally calm for someone who had a knife at his throat and a gun in his ear. Scott noted how still the professor was and followed suit. This kid was spooked. "This young man came in asking for you."

"Me?" Scott asked.

"All of you," said Xavier. "He spoke your names."

The kid shifted the gun's nozzle at the brothers. "Scott. Alex. Remy." His voice was rough and his intonation strange, like he'd learned the language from a broken machine.

"I'm Scott." He raised his hands palms out. "That's Alex on my left and Remy on my right. Put the gun down so we can talk comfortably."

"Scott." The kid's lips tightened. "Scott. Can help."

"Yes, I can, but not if you don't tell me--"

"Remy: Algorithmic laser pattern in the tunnel." The kid spoke more confidently. "Kaneshiro-based alarm system but with modifications. Taiwan parts, German engineering. Killed the modifiers. Arthurmeister lock through the main system doors--"

"Kaneshiro and Arthurmeister?" Remy's brain whirled. "Hydraulic double doors?"

"Yes." The kid nodded curtly. "Three feet thick, sensors through the mechanism and on the hinges."

"All of them."

"Yes."

"Remy, what's going on?" Alex asked.

"He's telling me about a security system," said Remy. "One hell of a security system. Like if Fort Knox was in the middle of Las Vegas."

"He wants you to steal something?" Scott demanded. "To hell with this." He lifted his hand to remove his glasses.

"Adam!" the kid blurted out. "Adam sent." He shook his head violently, his mouth working to form words. "Adam sent. Me to get you he said. That you always come." He clenched his eyes, his face wrinkling as he tilted his head to one side. "Interference chip. Can't get words. Arthurmeister lock through main system doors. Double redundancy program, two-second window. Laertes, Misaro, magnetic suspension."

"He's seen Adam?" Alex asked.

"Do you have a blueprint?" Remy asked the kid.

He shook his head. "Electromagnetic disruptors. Destroy discs and flash drives. Have it here." He tapped his head with the nozzle of the gun. "Wiring in walls. Panels every five feet. Titanium under drywall, Giger locks on panel doors. Sensors routed through three control booths."

"Fuck me, that's impossible!" said Remy. "Two control booths, maybe, but three is ridiculous. Do they take care of the other doors, too?"

The kid nodded. "Double redundancy, too. Each set has. Three control units each doors, corridors. Locks, fences."

Remy threw his hands up. "If I had five years straight to plan and an army of experts, I _might_ have a fifty-fifty chance of getting in and setting off only three alarms."

"Adam said you always came." The kid's hold on his weapons solidified. "Adam said. Scott'll make up some. Brilliant plan, Remy'll sneak them in, Alex'll kick. Ass and take names. I promised him I would get. Him home."

Alex turned swiftly on his heel and punched the bookshelves. Again. And again. And again. "Okay," he said. "I feel better now." He caught Scott's gaze then Remy's. "We're getting in that place and we're hurting everyone responsible. No one beats on my brothers except me."


	55. Solar Plexus

**Solar Plexus**

Normally, Scott wouldn't be this blunt but he was seeing a little too much of this conference room lately. The fact that it was almost full time with the trainees present compounded his bad temper. He was sending kids on missions for God's sake when he was supposed to keep them in a safe environment. The one kid who wasn't present was injured. Remembering the reason for Rogue's absence layered a sharp sheet of ice on his temper. 

"How do we know he's telling the truth?" he asked in his sternest tones.

"I scanned his mind," said the professor. "I didn't sense anything wrong besides the neural interference chip."

"He could be telepathic, too. Or have had a telepath mess with his head."

"If you say that, you have to admit that the conspiracy that he's talking about is at least true," said Alex.

Nonplussed, Scott said, "What are you doing out of bed? Aren't you still recovering from a bullet wound?"

"Aren't you supposed to be exploring every avenue to find Adam?"

Scott crossed his arms and leaned back, a pose that Alex and Remy matched unconsciously. "Okay, so there's an African island where some modern day Dr. Moreau is trying to clone mutants."

"Has cloned mutants," said the boy who called himself Gav. He had his hands cupped around a mug of chicken soup, his third in the past hour. "I am one I believe. Have not seen others but likely is." He shook his head and corrected himself. "It is likely."

"And that's the other thing: how can we trust his information when he's clearly suffering some sort of technologically-induced aphasia? He could lead us straight into the laundry chute for all we know."

"If Xavier takes care of the aphasia, I can make a plan," said Remy.

"Why're you being such a pussy about this, One-Eye?" Logan wanted to know.

"Because I'm not sending us into another mission unprepared," Scott snapped.

Thankfully, Logan couldn't find a comeback for that. Alex, however, wasn't as wise. "So you're going to spend a frillion years preparing?"

"Can someone strap him back to bed before his arm goes gangrenous?" Scott asked the room in general.

"It's just a flesh wound."

Alex just didn't know when to shut up and stop being a macho asshole. Scott unclenched his jaw. It wasn't easy. "And you know a lot about flesh-wounds because?"

"Perhaps Alex can help prep the jet," the professor intruded. "With Rogue ill, you'll need another hand at the hangar."

"Fine. You're flight crew. Now get to the medlab."

All that time Gav had swung his gaze between the two brothers like a spectator at a tennis match. "This is why Adam talks so much," he said to himself. His expression was that of content knowledge, one that Scott recognized on his own face after solving a particularly difficult equation.

"That proves it," said Remy. "He really does know Adam."

He almost teased a smile from Scott. "Okay, we're going on the assumption that everything we have so far is accurate. Remy, how dirty are we talking about?"

"It'll get us in but I don't know about getting out," said Remy. "Those defence systems he was talking about are more for confinement. It's not a one-man job."

"I don't care if you have to bring in an army of Guild members to do it. If you get stuck, there's someone on my contact list named Forge. He can build anything out of nothing but use him sparingly."

Remy saluted. "It's going to take a while."

"You have fourteen days max. If you can't figure something out in that time, you can't be as loaded as you seem to be."

Carefully, almost genially, Remy flipped him the bird. "What're you going to do?"

"What I do best, Pinky. You said you can get us in. I'm going to make sure that everyone gets out alive." Scott faced the wall of blueprints. He needed a calculator, a notepad and U2. It was time to strategize.

* * *

Gav bounded over and embraced Adam before Adam could get out a coherent thought. Strangely, once that first thought grappled out of his grey matter, it ended up being "Wow, he's dressed!" instead of "Gav's alive!" 

That was a sure sign that something was up.

Adam let the embrace go on although he couldn't return it just yet. Something was so off.

"I am pleased that you passed the test," said Gav, drawing back just the slightest bit, rather oblivious to Adam's stiffness. Only seven inches of Adam was ever stiff around Gav; that he didn't notice was yet another indicator of wrong.

Well, okay, maybe six inches.

"I, uh, what test?"

"Dr. Essex's test for the elite troops. Only one in a hundred is culled from the pens and you--" Gav squeezed his arm-- "have been assigned on my team."

"Great." Adam was going to be on Team Stepford. Next thing Gav was going to tell him was that he'd have to wear leather and Kevlar like Scott. "Uh, does anyone else care here if I raise a giant W-T-F sign? 'Cause the weird officially started with the maggots eating my legs. I mean, the whole Matrix-slash-Gladiator thing was bizarre, yes, but this is Lime Coke weird. The same weird with an all new flavour and I'm the kind of person who thought that they should have stopped at cherry, y'know?"

Essex consulted a stopwatch-- who used stopwatches any more?-- from his coat pocket. "Unfortunately, I have somewhere else to be at the moment. DRA7, if you would be so kind as to fill our new recruit in?"

Gav saluted. "At once, sir." He beamed down at Adam as soon as the doors closed.

Adam did his best not to recoil. "So, Gav." He tried and failed to sit up again "A little help?"

"But of course!" Gav hopped to the task, giving support at Adam's right. Gav _never_ hopped to a task. "They tranquilizers were for your protection," continued Creepy-Gav as he adjusted something on the IV "Dr. Essex feared that, in a moment of confusion, you might attempt to leave the clinic and do further injury to yourself."

"Yeah, wouldn't want to upstage those security goons they sent after us."

"You are still confused."

Pulling on his best Valley face, Adam said, "Yuh-huh."

His eyes widened for real when Gav trailed one hand down his uninjured leg. The free hand traced his hip bone and no matter how weird the vibes he was giving off, Adam's body couldn't help but respond.

"It is quite simple." Gav let his fingers lightly trace the sinewy outlines of Adam's quadriceps. "We are, all of us, superior beings, chosen by Dr. Essex as the next evolutionary step in mankind."

"So you weren't grown in a tank?"

"Indeed, I was. But my genetic matter was chosen first. That is why unlike many other mutants, I have multiple mutations. I am stronger, my muscles more dense, my bones stronger and yet more flexible."

The blanket went. Gav angled across Adam's body to pull the rest of it off, his elbow brushing Adam's semi.

"I can heal. My sense of balance in unparalleled. I can understand any language within a week and most writing in less than a month. And, should those fail to impress, I can conduct bio-energy through any material I so choose."

His nails dug into Adam's leg, the injured one of course. Adam tensed up, knowing what was coming next. A powerful shockwave shot up his leg, stealing his breath away. Arching off the bed, he gagged on a scream.

Next thing he knew, Gav's mouth was on his and there was a hand around his dick and this was so very, _very_ wrong but his body didn't want to listen because, Jesus Christ, this guy knew how to give a hand job and those seven-or-maybe-six inches were the only parts of his body that didn't have a bone that felt like shattering.

Adam came with a sob, swinging his arm out to sock Gav on the jaw. "Fuck you!"

One of Gav's eyebrows rose. "That was the general idea."

He sat up, wanting something to wipe himself with. Like maybe a Lysol pad. "What happened to sacrificing yourself for a thousand people? Or freedom from our oppressors?"

"That was part of the test," said Gav. "We had to ensure that you could work as a team, keep your discretion and complete the mission. I brought you clothing."

"You keep moving your mouth but all I hear is blah-blah-blah." Adam settled for wiping his nose. "How do I know this isn't another sick joke? Like, maybe an extended version of one of the Pen games?"

Shrugging lightly, Gav said, "You do not. You must trust my word."

"Comforting." Yanking at his new pants, Adam said, "Trust the guy who admitted he was using me for my connections, abandoned me in the face of the enemy and just now also admitted that he was on the other team all along? Totally not the kind of stuff to build trust on, y'know?"

"But, lie or truth, answer me this: Where else can we be together?" He leaned back down, resting his arms on the bed, his hands millimetres from Adam's leg. Flicking an ankle strap away, he met Adam's eyes.

Shit, he had pretty eyes.

* * *

The chairs in the council room barely slunk into the definition of "ergonomic." There was absolutely no reason for Remy to play Clock there for over an hour besides the fact that the medlab lay six steps from the door. Nothing short of death could drag Remy into a hospital which was why the medlab's insistent pull on his gut scared the living shit out of him. He'd successfully kept away all day on the excuse of finishing up the Genosha job. This was partially true at least. 

The current card layout let him down; Remy gathered all the cards together, one stack at a time and shuffled them with the expertise of a Las Vegas dealer. The plastic-coated bits of paper snapped, like little slaps against his hands. He cut the deck, performed several perfect faro shuffles, cut it again and dealt a new game. The odds of winning were in the mid-hundreds. Coincidentally, those were the same odds Remy had of getting out of this predicament with his skin intact.

Copies of the Genoshan laboratory lay under the card game. Five different ink colours marked the diagram where Remy noted security devices. Red self-adhesive tabs marked the guards' barracks and common areas. Green ones tagged the exits. The number of red tags vastly out-numbered the green.

His gaze flickered to the door for the fortieth time. He could do this. He could go through that door and not see Rogue's lips nearly blue with lack of oxygen. He could hear the ECG machine without hearing echoes of Rogue's sobs. He wasn't going to shake.

With the cards tucked in one of his coat pockets, Remy stood and headed for the door. Of course, with the luck that he was having, Worthington _would_ be heading down the same hall at the same time. What was it about old money that they could make everyone else feel like crusted shit on the heels of their Cole Haans?

"Returning to the scene of the crime," Worthington stated.

Wide-eyed, Remy held both hands up. "You got me, Sherlock. How could I ever have thought to get away when you and your long, flowing locks were on the job? Book me now; I can't stand to be around you and your coif without feeling the oppressive weight of--"

"Shut _up_." Those wings of his could do damage if they were fast enough to actually make contact. Remy smirked as he easily sidestepped the hit.

"Does that mean you don't want to read me my rights?"

Worthington snapped the wing back although they didn't fold completely into a rest position. "You're incapable of giving a shit, aren't you, Remy? There's a girl in there in a coma because you couldn't keep you pants zipped and you're cracking jokes."

"Wait, don't talk for a sec." Remy cocked his head to one side and cupped a hand around one ear. "Yeah, I definitely hear the Our Lady of Sorrows Soundtrack of Woe. This is where you say something up-lifting."

Warren almost growled in disgust.

"Try to use words like 'honour' and 'freedom.' They're huge with the Mayflower crowd right now."

"You're disgusting."

"Suck my dick."

"That's clever."

"Thanks. I got it from your dad."

Worthington's fists clenched but he apparently didn't want to wrinkle his shirt too badly. With a shudder-like movement, he tucked his wings flat against his back. "You're disgusting, Remy. You obviously got the worst of Chris Summers in you; no wonder Scott couldn't stand to go home with you around."

Remy's ribs seemed to contract and press against his lungs. Against his heart. "Feathers ain't alive," he said, blandly.

"So what?"

"I can only charge things that ain't alive."

Eyes narrowed, Worthington asked, "Are you threatening me?"

"You know what I think, Kentucky Fried?"

"Wait: you can think?"

"I think you got nothing else in this world except Scott. I don't know if you want to screw him or adopt him but you need him worse than anything in the world so that makes you scared. You hated Jean Grey 'cause suddenly he wasn't hangin' off of every word you said any more and you hate all of us 'cause you're afraid he's gonna remember about family obligation sooner or later."

"I've heard better psychoanalyses at company cocktail parties."

Taking pride in the heightened colour staining Worthington's fake-baked cheeks, Remy continued. "See, I know a lot of people like you from the Guilds. People who always need a sidekick, always need someone on their side yapping 'yessir' and 'nossir' every five seconds."

Plucking one of Worthington's fallen feathers, Remy nudged the molecules enough to make it smoke. "Scotty never forgot about family 'til you came 'round whispering country club nothings in his ear. I think-- no, I know you been saying things against us just so you could wind him a little tighter around your finger."

"All I've ever done is remove the blinders from his eyes," said Warren. His wings remained folded but all the little downy feathers stood, some shivering with emotion. "You're the master of emotional manipulation, Remy. I've seen you at work. You're like a lot of the closers in my company, the necessary sharks who know how to push the right buttons to make people do what you want them to do. I've seen you do it to Scott for years, to the Professor, to every woman that's crossed your path."

"Jealous?"

"Hardly. All my dates know exactly what they're getting into with me. You? You're like a cuckoo. You trick people into caring then fly merrily away when you've gotten what you want." He nodded towards the medlab. "You want to know about fostering dependency? How about the way you took a girl who'd just lost her mentor and her boyfriend and used her guilt to turn her into your puppy? And then as if that wasn't enough, you fucked her."

Remy's eyes blazed. "You watch how you talk about her."

"What, you _weren't_ aware of her vulnerabilities before you slept with her?"

Remy's paused to swallow-- just to swallow-- but that was all the time Warren needed to come to the right conclusions. Triumph touched his blue-blooded frown and, giving Remy a wide berth, he continued on his way to the medlab.

His eyes still burning, Remy slipped a hand in his pocket and pulled out his cards. Fifty-two laminated slips of paper flipped comfortingly between his hands as he fought to stay icy. He refused to give Worthington the satisfaction of a response. He'd rather make him eat it when this damned lab got cracked.

* * *

All his life, airplanes had surrounded Alex but he never took to it the way his brothers did. This particular failing undoubtedly precipitated the majority of the hopeless looks his dad threw Alex's way; it certainly made the few family dinners they'd had pretty damn boring. It wasn't that he couldn't fix planes and cars; he just didn't worship them the way Scott and the others did. Still, Scott didn't have to act so damned surprised when he was showed up at the hangar to prep the Blackbird. 

"Are you sure you're up to it?" Scott asked, his eyebrows wrinkling above the bridge of his nose.

"I went to the exact same camo-drenched summer camps as you guys. And unlike Remy, I didn't spend most of it sexing up the female counsellors."

Scott's brow cleared, his expression going blank. Inwardly wincing, Alex reflected that he probably shouldn't have reminded Scott of Remy's nymphomania at this exact moment.

"Take the cockpit," Scott said curtly. "There should be a diagnostics list under the pilot seat. Start with the equipment checklist. I'll let you know when it's time to run the board tests."

"Should I salute?"

"Only if you want to lose fingers."

Maintenance had a zen-like quality to it, almost like group mediation if you had a good team. With Piotr and Scott handling the heavy mechanics, Ororo doing the equipment checks, Kitty on the digital and himself on refueling and light repair, the Bird limped along nicely.

"Rogue usually does all the light repair," Kitty shared. The kid seemed to think he was her mentor or something after all those hours doing research. "I bet Mr. Summers is really choked. She's the only one here as plane crazy as he is and she helped out with the jet all the time." Throwing Alex a sidelong glance from the pilot seat, she asked, "Is it true she's sick 'cause... um, like, can Remy charge things with any part of his body?"

"As far as I can tell, only his hands," replied Alex. "Try to boot up the infrared now."

"Okay." The computer fans whirred enthusiastically as Kitty started up the program. "So you're not sure if he only charges up with his hands? He could charge things with, like, other parts of his body and you might not know it, right?"

Alex stuck his head out from the guts of the co-pilot board. "What did you hear?"

Studiously avoiding his gaze, Kitty said, "I totally don't believe any of it; I just want to have concrete information so I can shoot the rumours down."

"What are the rumours?" At her shrug, Alex said, "I promise I won't beat anyone up. You're all too young anyway; it wouldn't be fair. Except maybe in Piotr's case."

"Well one person said that Remy accidentally charged Rogue up."

"Nope. Remy can't charge anything alive."

"He didn't put a mickey in her hot chocolate?"

"What?" Alex pulled out from under the control board at that. "Who said-- damn, I can't beat-- Remy doesn't use any drugs on anyone. Trust me, he wouldn't."

"He didn't accidentally choke her while playing a bondage game?"

This time Alex sat up. "No. Also, yuck and, in conclusion, barf. Where did you get this?"

"Nothing exists in a vacuum," said Kitty. "In the absence of real information, false ones can and will be created to fill in the void."

"I hope you're not looking to me to fill that gossip void."

"Never."

Snorting as he ducked back under the control board, Alex said, "And I've got a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you."

Kitty made an indecipherable noise.

"What?"

Innocently handing him a wrench, Kitty also said, "What?"

"What was that 'hmm-nmm' thing you said?"

"Um, a completely incongruous, noncommittal noise for the lack of an appropriate or committed response?"

Alex accepted the wrench warily. "I'd believe it from anybody but you. You've got a quadprocessor for a brain."

"Thanks!"

"I'm not sure it was a compliment."

"Under the current context, I'll totally take it as one."

"Do you think you can run the infrared again while you're patting yourself on the back?"

"Of course. I'm a quadprocessor, remember?" Kitty tapped out the diagnostic program on the laptop then switched the infrared screens on. "Read outs are steady."

"Good. Let's run the recorder this time to make sure we have decent playback with this view." Alex slid out of his supine position, stretching out his cramped fingers. "If you run into any of the info-void fillers, do them a favour and tell them that sometimes the void should be left alone, okay?"

"Sure." Kitty cocked her head to one side. "I thought you didn't like Remy's thing with Rogue."

"I don't but that doesn't mean I'm going to let some fuck-- uh, let lies spread about him." In a softer tone, he added, "I wish he wouldn't be such an obvious dick, at least."

"Why do you think he's an obvious dick?"

"A long crafted habit carefully moulded to piss Scott off?"

"Maybe. Like, a lot of the kids here who have brothers and sisters say that pissing them off is a full time job."

"I can attest to that."

"Maybe he feels like it's the only thing he has."

"How's that?"

"Like, you're this supergenius and Mr. Summers is the perfect eldest child and Adam's the baby. Maybe being hot's the only way he thinks he'll stand out." Kitty made that hmm-nmm noise again. "Y'know, that totally parses."

Alex stared, not quite knowing how to respond. "Does anyone else know how scary you are?"

She tilted her head to one side, all modesty and quiet clout. "They're oblivious. But that's part of my master plan."

The deck walkie coughed out muted static. "Alex, have you seen Gaveedra?" asked Scott.

It took a while for Alex to remember the name. "Haven't seen hide nor hair since this morning when the TV caught him in its tractor beam."

"Find him. We need to cross-reference his information with the SHIELD specs."

"Can I hear a magic word with that?"

"Now." And Scott signed off.

"He sounds totally ticked," said Kitty, glancing between the walkie and the window out to the hangar.

"You kidding? That's Scott's loving voice." Studying the laptop's readouts, Alex said, "Look over the rest of the visual options and then get started on the commelinks. I should be back by then. Oh, and try not to take over the world while I'm gone."

* * *

_FYI, Part IV is completely finished and will be updating 1 chapter every Monday. Thanks in advance!_


	56. The Price of Freedom

**The Price of Freedom**

Upon second reflection, Kevlar wasn't as bad as he first thought. Adam felt a little like a futuristic NASCAR racer with the tight, poly-mesh everything and the weight of the armour plates on his chest, back, arms and legs. The jock was a little itchy though. He cupped the very important bit of protection as tried to position it in a way that wouldn't pinch anything vital. 

An older, fight-hardened man walked in exactly then. Smirking as he shed his own uniform, he said, "Still thinking with your dick, kid?"

Adam recognized the voice. "Scalphunter?"

His former cellmate nodded. "I figured they'd tap you. No one shoots up from recruitment to the third floor in as short a time as you said. It usually takes years."

"Lucky me," said Adam.

Scalphunter-- who was a real, live Indian complete with ponytail and chiselled cheekbones-- broke out into a knowing grin. "I know. Bitch of a hazing, wasn't it? Did you get the 'you are strong and evolutionarily fit' speech?"

"From Dr. Essex."

"The Big Boss himself?" Scalphunter whistled. "Shit, boy, what the hell are you packing in your genes?" Not waiting for an answer, he said, "Most of the time I think it's bullshit. There was a guy made of glass who got through the third floor. How's glass supposed to be strong?"

Adam shrugged.

"Then I realised; he's the target practice." Scalphunter shook his head. "Cold, huh?"

"What do I do know?" asked Adam.

"He hires us out, basically, to the highest bidder. Once a week, you jerk off in an insulated cup so the good doctor can make more vatrats. Between that and missions, you get to sit on your ass and wonder if you actually made it through the last mission or if you're actually a vatrat yourself."

Adam felt a little sick. "He actually does that?"

Scalphunter grinned again. "Come on. I'll show you the facilities."

During the walk around, Scalphunter pointed out all the equipment in the pockets which, granted, was not a lot.

"We're supposed to use our powers as much as possible," he said when Adam commented on it. "What's the point of using inferior weapons when we have superior powers, right?"

"Uh, right."

"This is our turf here. Only mutants. The guards and all the others stay in their own place." He grinned. "It keeps everything orderly, right?"

Their "turf" had showers, lockers, rooms, gyms and an honest to God hangar with a two planes and four helicopters. Scott would flip his head for some of the equipment. Several dozen other people in white uniforms nodded curtly as they passed by. Scalphunter motioned and two of the other mutants broke off from a larger group-- a skinny woman with green hair and Gav. Weird Gav. Gav who wasn't Gav.

"Cadre and Vertigo here are going to be your partners," said Scalphunter.

"Partners?"

"They'll be with you all the time, day and night, and in most of your practices if not all."

"Is this like a buddy system?" asked Adam. "Like, so we don't get lost?"

Darkness darted through Scalphunter's face. "So you don't get lost. Yeah. Something like that."

Gav, who was calling himself Cadre, slung an arm around Adam's shoulders, grinning and squeezing him in a distinctly uncomfortable manner. "See? I knew we would be on the same team. We shall be glorious in battle."

"Totally." Catching a strange look between Cadre-- it was much easier to think of him as Cadre-- and Scalphunter, Adam boosted up the acting. He pressed himself flush against Cadre and laced his fingers behind the other boy's neck. "We will kick royal ass together, babe."

He kissed him and tried not to gag.

Even with his run-in with Worthington two days ago, Rogue's injury didn't truly hit home for Remy until the Danger Room practices. Disabling electronics just wasn't the same without her beside him. This whole damn business would be easier if she was around.

Remy activated the scrambler he'd attached to the Kaneshiro alarm system. Jubilee and Storm should have attached their scramblers too and activated them at the same time. With Shadowcat online through the Blackbird, the synchronized override should be enough to short out the second ring of defence.

Air conditioners and breathing peppered two seconds' worth of silence. Then, the alarms blared.

"Fuck." Remy squeezed his eyes shut. "Computer, pause program." The eardrum-shattering noise broke abruptly. "Rewind to thirty-five-point-oh-eight seconds."

The Storm and Jubilee bots re-traced their steps, herky-jerky and normally funny as hell but this was the seventh time through the secondary defences and the twelfth run altogether and he was just not getting any further on this goddamn stupid, motherfucking, shithouse of a fucking defence system! Christ!

The lockpick set in his hand charged, purple-orange. Remy threw it to the far wall before it could explode in his hand. A wall shattered, the explosion barely masking the alarms.

Remy smacked his head against the nearest wall. "Fuckmook."

"I'm sorry for interrupting," Piotr said from all the available speakers. "The professor wants me to do a couple of fixes to the room."

"I ain't done yet."

"He wants to have a meeting with you anyway."

Sighing, Remy asked the computer to save the program before closing it all down. Picking up a folio of notes, he headed for the council room. He was getting real sick of that place. Too many stiff-jawed glares across the table when a good punch would've done as well.

Xavier and Scott had their heads together over the three-dimensional mapper which depicted a comma-shaped island. Gaveedra stood on the other end, pointing out a spot at the north-eastern region of the island.

"There were a lot of food crates there," Gaveedra was saying. "I remember the smell."

"Tell me again how you got off that island," Scott said.

The kid held his temper well, observed Remy as he slid into a seat. Only the professor acknowledged his entrance but Scott knew he came in; Remy could tell by the way his forehead crinkled.

"I have told you five times already," said Gaveedra, aggrieved.

"I want to make sure you didn't miss any details," said Scott.

"Or that I tell the same story as before."

"That too."

The mapper zoomed out to show a bit of the main African continent. "After I escaped from the main building, I ran into the woods. We were to meet out contact at that north-eastern region by nightfall."

"What time was it when you actually stepped outside the building?"

"I do not know for certain but the sun cast a fair shadow so I assume it was after noon."

"Why wait so long to get a hold of your contact? Weren't you afraid of getting caught especially with the place as heavily guarded as you say it was."

"Precisely because of that fact," said Gaveedra. "Domino said--"

"Domino, the resistance leader," Scott clarified.

"Yes, the only Domino that I know." The kid almost snapped. There was a desperate tension in his shoulders that Remy could empathise with all too well. Scott had a way of talking to you when you did something wrong that made you feel the guilt, no matter how innocent you really were. "She said that because we had just escaped, the coast would be the first to be fortified. Waiting until nightfall allowed us the cover of darkness and perhaps less alert guards."

Xavier nodded encouragingly and Gaveedra continued with monotonous weariness. "I arrived at the meeting point by myself. I do not know what happened to the rest of the Resistants but our contact was there as promised. He hid me in a shipment of weapons to the mainland--"

"Did you get a good look at your contact?"

"Only that he was African and the others referred to him as 'my lord'. And that those arms would certainly not be delivered to the intended party in the proper shape. I do not know much else."

"What kind of weapons were they?" asked Xavier.

"I do not know for certain," said Gaveedra. "but I know the Doctor is a genetic engineer, not a mechanical one. The boat only took me as far as Madagascar--" he pronounced each syllable with difficulty-- "which had an airplane that flew me to the United States."

"Just like that?" said Scott.

"Domino implied that these were friends from before her capture," Gaveedra said.

Remy had some of his own questions. "How did she get word out to those friends?"

"I do not know."

"Who are her friends?" asked Scott.

"I do not know."

"What was the plan once you were all out?" Remy asked.

"I do not know!" Gaveedra smashed his fist through the mapper, disrupting the greyscale Genosha. "You ask questions of a mere weapon. I have only ever been a weapon, a tool, never the one with true information. Vatrats, sticks, outsiders-- we all worked together to gain freedom but the rules stayed the same. There were the weapons and the wielders. It is even so out here; I am still a tool to whom you will disclose nothing." Pointing at the re-constituted island, he asked, "Do you think I want to return to that? To the pens and the vats, knowing that should I reach the heights of existence, my only reward was to die for someone else's war?"

"We don't think of you that way," said Xavier soothingly.

"Do you not? What is this place if not a pen and those upstairs if not tools?"

Xavier's shoulders went stiff for a second. "I'm sorry if you've been made to feel that way. We've been searching so urgently for Adam that we may seem brusque. I assure you that once this is over, we won't hold you here. You can truly be free."

Remy snorted. "Free to wander around the world totally clueless? He'll be dead in a week."

Scott finally turned his attention to him "What do you have to contribute, Remy?"

"A whole shitload of headaches same as everyone else. My first guess was right; even if this place didn't have guards, we couldn't break in and out cleanly by ourselves. Whoever this Doctor's selling his super-soldiers to, they're paying top price."

"What's your suggestion?"

This was going to hurt. "I need help. We need to get people from the Guilds in."

"I thought that would be the case. I've made allowances in the plan for extra bodies. Just make sure the Guilds get as little information as possible, I'm open to that angle. The last thing we need is to get your gangsters involved in the biological weapons trade." He rubbed his chin. "Is there any other option?"

"Tanks. Lots of them. Filled with nitro-glycerine and dropped from the air."

"It cannot be that impossible," said Gaveedra. "We were few and disorganised but we freed ourselves."

"True," said Remy. "That means the intel you got me is wrong--"

"It is not!"

"-- or they let you escape."

Gaveedra reared back. Remy saw the gears working in his head, just under the red fuzz of hair on his head. Baring his teeth, he whipped around and slammed his fist on the table, sending an arc of energy dancing over the shiny surface.

Scott kept his eyes on the mapper. Remy picked at his fingernails. Only Xavier watched Gaveedra directly.

"No others escaped," the kid said monotonously. "I left them with the hope of returning only to find that perhaps the Doctor wants me to return."

"There goes our element of surprise," said Remy half under his breath.

Pinching his chin, Scott reached for Remy's folio. "It looks like they've got all the advantages." He flipped through the note-scribbled photocopies, holding up a piece of paper every few seconds then discarding it for another. "Remy, get a hold of your contact at the Guilds. How much for this job?"

"Something like this-- overseas, high complexity and probability of failure, lots of manpower and hand-greasing-- we're looking at seven digits minimum. I'd charge four mill if this file came to me."

"Four million dollars?" That was as close Scott ever came to squawking. "Where the hell are we going to come up with four million dollars?"

"It's not all profit," said Remy. "I'd lose at least half on materials and bribes then forty percent of what's left goes to the Guild."

"So you'd only earn a million dollars; that's a lot more reasonable."

"We should also get someone else to act as contact," Remy continued. "A job's a job but storing information's a good habit to form in this area."

"What would make a good contact?"

"No one that they can tie easily to the school or to us. No obvious mutants. No one that has a criminal record or, preferably, any record at all in the papers. No one that'll break if things go according to plan."

"That leaves out any of the X-Men." Scott clicked around on the computer. "It would take too long to get someone from Muir Island and besides, they'd all have conspicuous accents."

"I believe we can raise close to a million dollars to help if we sell some of the cars, a few pieces of artwork and some stocks," said Xavier. "Perhaps I can also speak with Lord Braddock about a loan."

Scott shook his head. "Professor, you don't have to--"

"Yeah, he does," said Remy. "All that money coming out of one place is going to leave a mark. You need to get it from lots of difference places. I can fork over maybe another half a mill without the Guild raising an eyebrow."

The lines bracketing Scott's mouth deepened for a moment. "Okay, so we have one and a half million dollars. That's still only half."

"I'll fund the rest." Warren walked in carrying a leather laptop case.

"Daddy and Mommy won't notice two million missing from their gold-plated billfolds?" asked Remy.

Scott and Warren ignored him. "Warren, you don't have to do this," said Scott. "They could trace it."

"There are assets I can liquidate without answering to my parents or the company," Warren said. He slipped his laptop out of its bag. Remy couldn't see the screen but he could tell by the angle of Scott's eyebrows that he was probably seeing a hell of a lot of triple zeroes on a bank statement. "Plus, I can take a couple hundred from various international businesses under Worthington Enterprises. Small numbers from a wide area, just like you want, right Remy?"

Remy allowed himself to smirk. "You know about skimming. My estimation of you's gone... well, not up but you're obviously a little less stupid than you look."

"What if they ask for more than four million dollars?" asked Gav.

Bright kid. "They won't," lied Remy.

"The only question that remains is our choice of a contact person," said Xavier.

Alex walked in, wringing grease from his fingers with a rag. "Scott, dude, you've got to tell me what the hell you did with the hydraulics on that plane 'cause the chassis looks like Frankenplane under--- uh... what?"


	57. Covert

**Covert**

After a couple days of being in character, Adam was of the firm opinion that method actors had to be certifiable. He could barely stand being a sadistic low-life for seven days, how did they manage for weeks of filming? It was nuts. It had to be nuts. _He_ was going nuts and that? Was probably the whole point. 

He tugged at his uniform collar and sighed.

His partner for the day, George, craned his long purple neck to look at him. "Bored already, X-treme?"

"You've put down one holographic rebel force, you've put them all down," said Adam. "These collars are _torture_, dude! Real combat uniform can't be this uncomfortable."

"At least the suppression collars are pretty light," said George. "I remember the older version. At least two inches high and weighed a tonne. Try wearing that under a shirt and then fighting. They crapped out a lot, too. If you didn't get the setting right, you're throwing up by the end of the day if not out cold. The uniform collars are nothing."

"Thank God for plastic."

"Amen."

They went back to peering through their binoculars. "So, y'know, besides the constant threat of death by bombing, the possibility of vivisection and the crappily designed uniforms, how do you like being one of the chosen ones?" asked George.

"Be a merc, see the world," Adam said. "Considering I haven't actually seen any action other than the practice sessions, I have to say, it's going pretty damn good. My bed actually has a mattress, the food is kinda bland but there's a lot of it and I get to kick ass every day. It's like a video game come to life."

"When you do get out though." George sighed. "I'm telling you, kid, there's nothing like it. You just know, y'know? Going out there, bringing down the weak and unworthy, you really get a sense of your purpose in the world. It's exactly like the Essex says: we are the strong."

"Totally." Totally certifiable. This must be what a cult was like.

"We have visual." George pointed to the left. "See the smoke coming from the other side of the road?"

"I see it," said Adam. "Three convoys just like the specs said."

"Shall we do this?"

"Certainly. After you."

At least the uniforms let his body breathe. In the hot stickiness of the South American jungle, there was nothing worse than sweat gluing your clothes to your body. Adam slipped easily out of his perch on a rocky outcropping and raced George down the steep hillside. It was more like a cliff, really, with just enough of slope and greenery to negate the need for climbing ropes. They were to meet the convoy a mile from here and make sure their delivery didn't get anywhere. Nor could they allow any messengers to warn the rebels; that meant use all force.

Actually, all the assignments in his practice sessions so far used all force. He wasn't sure if there were any other options in this line of work.

George was basically made of tar. That was as far as Adam understood his power. He could understand why Essex chose him as a merc; he couldn't die. He'd seen the guy yank off his arm, spatter it against a tree then sort of... gather all the droplets back together to reform his arm. When George threw himself in front of the first convoy truck, Adam didn't bat an eye.

Huge blobs of George covered the windshield. The truck swerved, shouts leaked out from the windows. The truck immediately behind it tried to stop but only succeeded in ramming into the lead vehicle. The last truck stopped in time but with such a narrow road, he was essentially trapped.

It was Adam's turn.

His dad and brothers took him out to the shooting range for the first time when he was thirteen. It was kind of a family tradition. Alex taught him more than anybody else because he was in the area and he was naturally good at it. So when Adam told his superiors that he sucked at shooting, he was of course, lying. He purposefully missed vital organs, nicking muscle deep enough to access their bloodstream. With all the practice both in the pens and in the past week, Adam had become more and more aware of a sixth sense when it came to open wounds. It was almost like he could smell it but with the added tickle of carbonated drinks in the back of his mouth.

That subtle carbonated-penny smell emanated from all three trucks. Adam extended his arms, feeling the tiny, hot bubbles of energy in on his forehead and behind his eyes. "Burn."

The smell of scorched flesh soon overtook everything else. Adam's eyes stung. He blinked repeatedly, pulling harder on his powers. He felt the frantic energy from the people--the bodies, the targets; if he thought of them as people, he'd throw up-- leading up to his hands and up his arms then to his eyes. It curled around each fingers, tugging at his nail beds.

He blinked again.

And pulled.

"Burn."

Threads of energy twisted together, knocking his breath out. Adam stumbled back, his throat dry. George cackled in the background, the wet shlepping noise of his tar-like body joining in harmony.

"You are my type of fighter, X-treme!" He let out a whoop that would've done fifties westerns proud. "You chose your name right."

Adam grinned weakly. He had no idea what George was talking about. He just got slammed on his butt by his own power; how extreme was that? George lent him an arm up, gesturing at the wreckage at the same time. Bodies hung from the windows and half-open doors, their arms and legs twisted in a rictus of pain. Two of the bodies were practically mummified, their clothing ashes and tatters.

"You are one lean, mean destructive machine," said George.

Hokey lingo aside, with one brother literally fighting for mutant rights, another as a member of the an international crime ring and the third suspiciously obsessed with martial arts and weaponry, what if he really was?

"So how long do I have to keep my babysitters around?" asked Adam.

"Babysitters?"

"Vertigo and Cadre. Don't get me wrong, Cadre's fun and all but I think I've proven that I'm not going to make a break for it." He kicked debris out of the way; they had to confirm the kills no matter how mutilated the bodies looked. "I'd rather not have my boyfriend as my jailer."

"Aw, they're not your jailers, mate."

"Dude, give me some brains. They're guards."

George rose, wiping his hands on his pants. "Everybody gets them the first month. I'm sure you can get some time off for good behaviour considering one of your partners is your, uh, your... y'know... fella."

Amazing. Killing a fleet of soldiers and George didn't blink. The idea of boy-on-boy and the man blushed. If tar _could_ blush. Maybe he should rethink his codename, Adam reflected, something that would strike fear in the hearts of homophobes everywhere. Gayboi. The Rainbow Warrior. Lord HotBuns.

"I'm not falling for that," Adam said. "One minute, I'm sexing up Cadre for free time, the next, I'm back in the pens for bad behaviour. No thank you. I can stick it out."

After all, the better behaved he was, the greater the chance he'd have to going on a mission. Battle zone or not, outside was outside and he intended to go there

* * *

The professor's telepathic link was a great solution to their wiring problem. The Guilds could detect any bugs they could have hooked up to Alex during contact by virtue of the electronic scanners at the door of the bar, the portable detectors they had on hand and pure observational training. As far as Remy knew, the Guilds didn't have anything that could detect telepathy. No one did except the X-Men. 

Experiencing the meeting through Alex's senses, Remy gauged the scenario. The bar was comfortably full, the servers busy but unharrassed and with enough talk to blanket the room in white noise. Each table stood far enough to discourage eavesdropping unless you really tried and the thick cushioning absorbed the rest of the sound. Muted Top 40 filtered through the lulls in conversation. Alex's Jack and Coke sat nearly untouched on his left hand side as agreed with the Guild contact. He'd been there for twenty minutes with no word.

Alex's thoughts filtered through Xavier. _I think they know something's up._

_No,_ Remy replied. _It's part of the test to see how willing you are to jump through their hoops._

Even as he spoke, an average looking guy of average height wearing an average suit slipped into the chair across from Alex. "Sorry to keep you waiting. I couldn't get a cab and the one I did get must've been fresh out of driving school." He stuck his hand out. "I'm the Courier."

Alex took it. "If you treat all your clients like this, Mr. Courier, I'm amazed you're making money."

"Again, my apologies. I'll have a glass of your Australian cabernet sauvignon," the Courier told a passing server. "And whatever tapas you think will go with that wine. Do you want something?"

"Yeah." Alex slid his watery hardball over. "Bourbon." He held up his thumb and forefinger to shot how much. "Hopefully we'll be finished our business by the time I'm done."

"You're impatient, Mr. Donnelly."

"All aspects of my business are done ASAP, Mr. Courier. You and your... company had best keep that in mind if you want my money."

"As you wish." Courier put a phone out on the table between them. "Why don't you tell me what you want stolen?"

"First, how do I know you won't just take the information and go?" Alex demanded.

"We have a reputation to uphold," said Courier. "If we did that, we wouldn't have any clients left. I assure you that we've always delivered. Surely the person who recommended us told you that."

_Sound sceptical,_ Remy told Alex. _If you make it a hard buy, he'll get hooked._

Alex adjusted his tone. "They did. But this is a high stakes proposition, not mere objects."

"Tell me about it."

With Remy's help, Alex talked. The plan agreed on a truncated version of the truth: there was someone in a facility in Genosha that they needed to get out by any means necessary. It involved bioengineering, genetic engineering and may be funded by various governments, legally recognized and not. There were people available to do the actual retrieval but breaking, entering and, most importantly, escaping was up to the Guild.

"What if a firefight breaks out?" asked Courier. "My company doesn't specialise in that."

"As I understand it, a firefight would greatly decrease your cut," said Alex. "I just want you to get my people in and out of this facility."

"It's a big job. Let me talk to my superiors about it and we'll see what we can do. If you'll just wait a moment." Courier stood and waved a server over. "Please, order whatever you want. We can pick up the bill on this one whether or not we take the offer. It's a very interesting one; we haven't had one of those in ages."

He departed, leaving Alex with a too-perky server who insisted on a dessert. _Well, how did that go?_

_He's going to talk to the Guildmaster about it,_ Remy said. _Probably haggle for a higher price. If it's anything over four million, turn it down. If it's under, sound eager._

_Dude, at the price they're charging for alcohol, I'm ready to turn the drinks down. Are they distilling it themselves in the back or something?_

Courier returned before Remy could answer. "My superior is intrigued, Mr. Donnelly. We'll take your offer for three and a half million dollars."

"That's pricey but worth it," said Alex. "You're hired."

In the mansion, Remy straightened out of his nervous slump. He saw Xavier do the opposite, easing his grip on his arm-rests. "What now?" Xavier asked him.

"Now we wait."

Ms. Manners' call came a couple hours later than Remy expected. "Someone has hired us to break into the very same company whose blueprints you acquired last week," said Courier in lieu of a greeting.

"What a coincidence."

"We don't believe in coincidences, only in pre-emptive political manoeuvres. What's the connection between your blueprints and this new client, Gambit?"

"Call it a recommendation," said Remy. "They came to me first about the job and when I saw how complicated it was going to be, I told them it'd cost extra."

Courier made a disbelieving noise. "What do you know about the muscle they're bringing in? Are they from the other Guilds?"

Among the Thieves, "the other Guilds" referred to the Assassins, the Mercenaries and the Transporters. He didn't know the last time a Transporter did anything but drive or pilot and the Mercenaries were too small and rife with internal competition to be much of bother. However, the Assassins and the Thieves had a long, bloody history for reasons that made Remy's head ache.

"They're all freelancers," he said. "I had a hell of a time convincing them to do business with our corporation; they wouldn't call in any others."

This time, Courier's throat-clearing had a more positive note. "Get down here with your sheets as soon as possible. I told them we'd be ready by the end of the week."

"The end of the week? They're kind of impatient."

"They're paying good money. The contact didn't even blink when we named the price. Still, it's going to take a fleet to plan this out."

"I got most of it down. All it needs is manpower."

"Don't get too cocky, Gambit. You may have a lot of cred under your belt but you're new blood around here. Ms. Manners isn't going to fall for a pretty face," added Courier just in case Remy didn't catch the insult.

"Yeah, screw you too," he mumbled.

"What was that?"

"It's a pleasure talking to you," Remy lied cleanly. He hung up before Courier could go in with any of his own retorts.

The little fart. As if he actually had a position in the Guilds. Ms Manners' over-rated coffee boy was going to learn a lot about hierarchy once he got--

Remy took a deep breath.

Calming. Down.

Save the seething anger for another target.

Warren turned the corner. Yeah, he'd do.

* * *

"Dad used to do this," Scott told the scarf in his hand. "He used to talk to Mom's picture all the time when he was drunk. I'm not drunk but I'm talking to a scarf. So who's crazier?" 

He let his head fall into his hands. The silk caught in the stiff hairs of his five o'clock shadow. Really, the stubble was all he could get even after a week of not shaving. Like his tan, his beard ran the way of his maternal grandmother's family. All for the best really; the last thing he needed was to develop his dad's psychosomatic facial hair growth as well as his habit of talking to dead people.

"I miss you so fucking much." He sighed, lifted his head and gathered the scarf into fistfuls of wrinkles. "I can't... think without you to--"

A knock sounded.

Scott jumped to his feet, quickly checking his cheeks for tell-tale wetness. The optic beams didn't burn the tears away, they just sprayed them into a fine mist at the bottom of his glasses. "Come in."

Warren stuck his head in. "Ororo wants to see you. She's practicing the air to sea manoeuvres with the kids and she wants a second pair of eyes to help choose the ones who'll come with us to the island. And after that, you need to brief Kelly, David and Narda on the schedule while we're away. Also, Remy confirmed that his people are on board; we should have a solid plan by the end of the week."

"Not in those exact words."

"I may have paraphrased for a general audience."

"I'll be right there." Casually, he dropped Jean's scarf on the bed and pretended to riffle around his desk, searching for the courage to just talk. "Hey, Warren, wait a sec."

Feathers brushed against maple as Warren turned around, both blond eyebrows arched.

"I'm a shithead," Scott said quickly. "Jean always used to translate for me and I don't know how to communicate like a human any more so anything I say under stress, you have to know that I don't mean it."

The corners of Warren's lips turned up. "Are we having a bonding moment, Gamma Gaze?"

"Something like that."

"Apology accepted." He cocked his head to one side. "A friend of mine keeps telling me that kid brothers are always bratty and running off at the mouth."

"Yeah. Damn them." The lead strap around Scott's chest loosened. Then he shook his head. "See that thing that I just did? That was communication. Why can't I do that with Remy and the others?"

"You used words with greater than two syllables."

"War."

He held his hands up. "Sorry. It's a knee-jerk reaction. If there's one answer to that question, there wouldn't be so many rich shrinks." Slapping Scott's back, he said, "Come on, Summers, your kingdom awaits."

"Yeah, and legions of adoring subjects." Stretching out the kinks in his back, Scott let out a gusty sigh. "Do you remember how many rescues we did last month?"

"Five."

"And how many missions did I do for SHIELD the past three months?"

"Three."

"So I suck at finding my brother why?"

"Most of your students weren't hidden in a top-secret, mad scientist island."

"Right. I think we should hire a career counsellor for the school just to make sure they don't become X-Men."

"One mountain at a time, Mohammed."


	58. Genosha

**Genosha**

On the morning of the mission, Remy found himself in the medlab. Rogue lay as still as she had been all week, monitors beeping, IV in place. He didn't dare to touch her. Instead, Remy sat beside her bed, smoothing the wrinkles on the sheets, untucking and refolding the corners of the blanket into the mattress in a useless attempt at military precision. His breathing slowed to the metronomic beeps of the ECG machine. 

A bentwood box sat at on nearby chair. Remy had bought it from an artisan up in Bella Coola, BC during a necessary red-eye flight from Slovenia to Seattle. The whole box was made out of one piece of wood steamed and fixed together then intricately carved with totem animals. He had no idea what it meant but he recognized artistic genius when he saw it and the young man with the scarred hands was bona fide. Remy regularly checked in with him to buy any more pieces; at the moment he owned two sculptures and another bentwood box that stood as high as his knee.

This one was special though. The artist told him that and Remy believed it because the first thing he put in it when he got home was a broken little Transformers action figure that Alex had never missed. He opened the box now and stared at the contents: a collectible car from Scott's office, one of Adam's car sketches and an MVP medal Alex won his last year of high school. On top of it all was the photograph Rogue pinched on her test day.

Stupid photograph.

Remy turned it face down and closed the box. He traced the carvings with two fingers. The silky texture of the carvings showed how often he'd done just that except it wasn't in the middle of the night and he didn't have a tumbler full of bourbon in one hand although he could really use one right now.

Hissing a curse, he swiped the box off the side table and put it on the bed, tucked between Rogue's arm and side. He slid the back of his hand on her hip, eyes closed and throat clenching. He'd never gone anywhere without this box, not in all his jobs legal or otherwise.

Jesus, he had to get away now.

Roughly, Remy yanked his coat from the back of the chair and struggled into it as he headed for the door. The Popsicle-- Bobby-- ran his shoulder into him as he stalked past the entrance.

"Watch it, pedo," the younger man snarled.

Remy's arm shot out. In a second, he'd wedged Bobby against the wall, an elbow at his larynx while he twisted the kid's arm up past its natural rotation. "You can't say anything to me, boy."

Bobby looked like he wanted to say something back but his commelink beeped. The professor wanted to talk to him. Mustering up his best glare, Bobby headed for the elevator.

"Go on and run to you little fling, boy," Remy snarled into Bobby's ear. "When your balls grow bigger than peas, maybe, just maybe, you'll be worth wiping the shit off her shoes with."

Releasing the Popsicle, Remy let out a ragged breath as he went on his way. The little fucker'd been taking lessons with Worthington on low blows. Doing this job was looking to be a welcome escape.

In the lockers, he tucked his weapons in his jacket, trying not to stroke the leather; too many distractions there. His lockpick set was already in the right lower pocket; he looped blades through his belt, wrist, leg and ankle bands. Slipping a fingernail under the plastic, he unsealed two new decks, snuffled the cards and slipped them in a pair of chest pockets. His Guild colours hung on the adjacent hook. Black pants and a black, long-sleeved shirt both with a bright fuchsia lining. The material reflected laser and heat sensors, rendering the wearer invisible to most security devices. A half-mask attached to the shirt, keeping hair from his eyes and extending the sensor protection around the head. Releasing all the oxygen out of his lungs, Remy closed his eyes even as he reached for his uniform.

It was time to do a job.

A silent group boarded the Jet. Remy slid into his seat without the usual banter. He really didn't feel up to it right now, never did just before a job. In any case, his back luck prevailed and he was stuck beside Iceman and behind Angel for the flight. Whoop. Storm took co-pilot's seat beside Cyclops in the cabin. Wolverine strapped in beside Angel and the final rows held Colossus, Jubilee and Gav.

"We rendezvous with the Thieves in Virginia first," Storm said, "Remember: keep all personal talk to yourself. Address each other only by your call signs. Do not engage first; this is first and foremost covert-ops which means that if everything goes well, they won't even know we were there. Our job is to protect the Thieves and Adam Summers."

Scott waited for vocal affirmatives then continued. "ETA to Genosha is three hours including the rendezvous." His tone left no doubt in Remy's head that his brother was gone; only the X-Men drone called Cyclops was left.

* * *

As the Blackbird waited on the tarmac of a private airstrip, Scott pulled on a lightly armoured mask that resembled a balaclava. With his visor on, only his mouth and ears showed. The rest of team put on similar masks. Remy had suggested them to further decrease the chances of recognition. Scott disliked them; masks fostered distrust. 

"The Thieves are on visual," said Storm.

Flicking a couple switches down, Scott opened the starboard forward door. Shadows clad in the same faintly reflective luon as Remy slipped through while the door was still lowering. Their faces were covered, too with eyewear that had to be more than just shades. Slender zippers traced the seams of their clothes and the dips of their muscles so that almost nothing bulged from the tight clothing. Beanies and do-rags covered their hair and half-masks, their cheeks and neck. Nineteen thieves boarded in total: five for the actual break-in, fourteen to serve as decoys.

The first Thief to enter swept the cabin. Her gaze stopped at Remy. "The great Gambit."

"Spat." Gambit nodded. "You come with the trust of the Guildmaster?"

Spat grinned toothily, cold and supercilious. "You all still that backward down south, Gambit?"

"We prefer to think of it as cultured." Gambit's answering grin was twice as cold. "Now tell me, do you come with the trust of the Guildmaster?"

"What if we don't?"

Faster than Scott could follow, Remy was out of his seat and at Spat's neck. He backhanded her then snatched her arm before she could fall back. Where his hand touched her, her suit began glowing bright violet. He didn't stop charging the suit even as he twisted her around into a headlock.

"Your Guildmaster may have pulled one over me," said Remy, his voice cold fire, "but I'm still a Ten-Left with all the honour and respect due the position--"

"Turn it off!" Spat yelped.

Remy squeezed harder on her neck. "Don't interrupt, you worthless little shit. I'm one of the best goddamn Lefts in the fucking continent so unless you're a Guildmaster or the Sultan of Brunei, you do _not_ get to talk to me like that on a job, got it?"

Spat nodded frantically. Half of her suit was charged now. Scott wanted to step forward but instinct told him not to interfere. He motioned the X-Men to stand down.

Gambit glared at the rest of the Thieves, using his demon-like eyes to full advantage. "Anyone else have anything to say?"

"No sire," answered eighteen subdued Thieves.

"So Spat, do you come with the trust of the Guildmaster?"

"The trust and confidence, sire."

"To what capacity do you come?"

"We pledge our skills, our bodies and our lives to your use."

"Good." Spreading his fingers, Remy inhaled. As he did so, the glow slowly receded, tinting his fingernails orange. The temperature increased as the energy diffused into the air.

Angel started to speak but Scott held his hand up for quiet. "Everyone strap in, we're about to leave."

"Well. That was... special," Storm murmured as he took his place in the captain's seat. She glanced over her shoulder at him, face serene but with a silent question. Storm always kept her cool but for entirely different reasons than Scott. She was instinct to his logic. That's why they made good field partners.

Scott made a sound which basically summed up his feelings on the topic. Mainly that he was conflicted. While seeing Remy in control of this new factor was a relief, the way in which he posed his control was troubling. He'd always pictured Remy's activities as non-violent. Remy himself seemed very non-violent. But then again, Remy had done a few things the past week that changed Scott's opinion.

"We'll be fine," he told her.

Genosha materialized on the view screen in no time at all. A knot roughly the size and texture of an iceberg settled in Scott's stomach. Despite what he told Storm, something was going to go wrong horribly wrong. Jean called it his Cynic's Radar; the professor suggested a low-level tele-empathy reflected from Jean's link. All Scott knew was that the last time he felt like this, Striker had trapped him and the Professor in Magneto's cell.

"Touching down on our designated coordinates," Storm said.

Gav's specs and the blueprints from the Guild indicated a wide sensor range. Scott calculated that parking the Bird in Madagascar's waters would confuse them. Boats often travelled between the two islands; the X-Men and five of the Thieves boarded five local ones, their uniforms stored in backpacks. To everyone else, they were just another group of tourists enjoying an underwater swim. Once they were far away enough, the decoy Thieves materialised out of-- well, Scott had no idea _where_ they came from. He'd have to ask Remy for that trick later on. After a quick change of suits, the decoys continued to swim around while the active team pointed their scuba-jets towards Genosha.

Scott's team reached one of Genosha's beaches in the estimated seven minutes. "Is everyone in position?"

"We're good here," said Wolverine, his voice only slightly blurred by the signal jammers on the island.

"We're also in position, Cyclops," said Storm.

"Good. You all know what to do. I'll see you in a few minutes."

* * *

If he'd put as much effort into his American History as he did into studying these security specs, Adam figured he wouldn't have had to take it twice. 

"You're a little too obsessed with those," said Vertigo, peering over his shoulder.

"If you've been abandoned, lost, and left for dead as often as I have, you'd be obsessed too," said Adam truthfully. "I've figured three straight forward exits from this dorm and another for the four main hallways on this floor. The third floor is a little trickier but I think you meant for it to be that way. The second floor is kind of tricky but I found one way out. I'm still studying the first floor."

Vertigo chuckled. "Someone might get the wrong idea."

"Oh, it's probably the right idea," said Adam, "but for the wrong reasons. I'm not getting trapped in here again and neither will my teammates."

Cadre slid to his side on a backless stool. "We will never have a need to escape. All we want is provided by the doctor in exchange for our services."

"It's not about us escaping," Adam said. "It's about finding a way out if we get trapped in our own homebase. Look, if we get attacked.--"

"That was all a test, remember?"

"But it's a plah-- plow-- plausbile test," Adam said. "There's no such thing as a completely foolproof security system and one day people are going to try to break out or break in. When they do, they're going to destroy exits. It's a matter of simple logistics. I've looked over all the security logs and nothing we train for have any backup plans for being trapped in our own bunker. So I'm just making some."

Cadre bussed his cheek. "That is my lover. Always thinking ahead."

"You taught me to," said Adam. "I think one of the lessons in these tests is how to be extremely paranoid. Consider the lesson learned."

Shuffling her fingers in his hair, Vertigo said, "I think you're over-doing it even for us. Hey, Cadre, you want to spar?"

Cadre agreed of course; he'd gotten that much from the original Gav. Adam set back to the security system. Half-truths made the best lies; his brothers taught him that. The escape routes he'd shown would appease the rest of the merc crowd for a while, he hoped. The real deal was in memorising the blueprints. Near eidetic memory ran in his family but Adam never really put it to use until now. And maybe the occasional English course. That combined with his experience in car blueprints would-- he hoped-- help him figure out a real escape route for himself.

If this Gav wasn't the real Gav then the real Gav had gotten away. Or was dead but Adam refused to entertain that thought. The real Gav was the best fighter he'd ever seen. He'd've gotten away. And besides, they wouldn't go through this elaborate ruse if they hadn't wanted him to believe in the whole "superior creatures" garbage anyway. Which meant that Adam was something that Dr. Essex really wanted. And if Essex really wanted him, then he had a little more leeway than Gav and the rest of the Resistants had accounted for.

Hence the escape routes.

The mistake that he'd made the first time around, Adam realised, was in putting his trust in other people. He didn't want to know about everything because he hadn't wanted the responsibility of knowing everything. Look where that got him. This time around, he was in charge of himself and he knew he wasn't going to leave any blind spots. Besides, after everything he'd gone through, what other surprises could Essex pull?

Adam adjusted the collar on his uniform jacket. One of the teams had been flown off island for an assignment. Nothing certain had gone down the wire but Adam was pretty sure he'd see real action within the next couple of weeks. He wouldn't try anything this first time; they'd be expecting that. He'd be a good little merc for the next couple of assignments and eventually, when he'd gotten their trust and a better hold of the island, he'd try to escape.

Scalphunter reached over his shoulder to press a few buttons. "You missed something."

"Oh yeah?"

"The island itself is a natural defence system." He brought up a topographical map. "The south-western side is sheer cliff-face and we have people patrolling that area all the time. The port comes from the north but that's heavily guarded too. Only one way in and out of this place."

"What about aircraft?"

"We have antiaircraft."

Adam whistled. "Can you have something like that without the world knowing?"

"Half the things we fight in aren't covered in most news casts," said Scalphunter. "We don't register under anyone's radar."

"Says who?"

"Says the folks who sign our cheques." Scalphunter patted his shoulder. "You're good kid, but you have a few more things to learn. You get a little too tunnel-visioned. Think holistically."

"Oh, just give me some time, old man. I'll surprise you."

* * *

All three groups met two miles from the village. Remy took a quick head count before they entered. Scott's plan was three-fold. First and most important was to rescue Adam. The second aided the first: disabling as many of the defence systems as possible. The third, partially optional section involved rescuing as many of the mutants from the first three floors as the jet could hold. Xavier contributed that part; Remy doubted it would happen and, he figured, so did Scott. 

Coordinating with the team left in Madagascar and two others left at strategic points on the island, Remy and Spat cracked the alarm system long enough for them to enter. The first thousand yards or so of hallway were easy to navigate-- there were no branching hallways, stairs or hidden doors. Like a classic maze, the first fork was a doozy. Eight choices lay before them and, Remy knew from the blueprints, three of the eight led to guard barracks, one was a dead end, and the other end back up to the surface.

Remy filled two cards with a low level charge and drew out his bo. "I'll take point."

"No, Wolverine-- dammit, Gambit!" He'd already moved into position before Scott could negate the action. A few seconds later, Wolverine turned the corner, grinning and claws extended, with Gav help in front of him like a shield. "Someone told me to cover your dumb ass."

He smirked. "Point clear," he said. "Forward."

"Gambit!" Scott started to cancel the order but Wolverine beat him to it.

"Shit, kid, let me second you before you move."

"It's clear," Remy said.

"Follow the goddamned protocol or I'm taking you off point and sending you back in the jet. Shit, you have me talking like Cyclops."

Jubilee might have giggled but it was difficult to tell through the radios. Angel's arrogant "This is going well" came through loud and clear, though.

"Forward," Wolverine said pointedly shoving Gav in Remy's way.

At the designated location, the team split into three. Scott, Remy, and two Thieves continued forward as the main break-in group. Storm led her team-- consisting of Angel, Colossus and anther pair of Thieves-- down the west corridor while Wolverine took Iceman, Jubilee, Gav and the last Thief east. From this point on, they operated in radio silence unless absolutely necessary, meaning not until the shit hit the fan. Which, considering the intricacy of the security system, had pretty good odds of happening. The two splinter teams had to coordinate their anti-defence activities with Remy's team. Wolverine's group was also in charge of locating and freeing Adam.

Remy stayed at point, scanning for incoming ten paces ahead of the team while Scott took the rear. Hearing footsteps ahead, he signalled "hide" before pressing up against the wall. A swipe with the bo at the ankles and swift grab of their collars downed a pair of guards. Remy slammed his knee into one guard's head, Scott took out the other one by pinching his carotid arteries. After gently lowering the guards and taking their weapons and walkies, they continued down the hall.

The second Thief wore an eye-piece that detected cameras. Every few minutes, he'd motion to Remy who would take a piece of wire from his coat, charge it and send it shooting into the camera lens. It was temporary-- a backup cam booted up after three minutes, but it was enough to time to get them down the hall with minimal detection.

The one factor unspecified by both Gav, SHIELD, and the Hellfire Club was the number of guards in total. Remy had counted at least thirty topside; Gav described at least another thirty involved in his fight out. Providing there were no overlaps, they were looking at a hundred guards, well-trained if not elite. With the size of this place, the number of barracks and the connections it supposedly had, Remy wouldn't be surprised if the numbers were closer to three hundred.

Holding his bo parallel to his body, Remy used a mirror to look around the corner. Empty. He waved the team forward. Not more than a yard into the corridor, a pair of guards appeared out of an unseen doorway. Remy swiftly brought out his bo, knocking on guard out. Still using that momentum, he vaulted over the first guard's prone body to smash his heel up the jaw of the second guard. A sharp poke in the proper pressure point and he would be out cold for a few hours. Remy spun on his heel and applied the same pressure on the first guard. Smooth, quiet, simple.

He bowed. Scott's mouth ticked-- he was either fighting to frown or smile. Remy didn't care. Adrenaline streamed through his veins now. The mission was starting to get fun.

* * *

When Alex finished reciting the final verse of "Unforgiven II", he wriggled out of his hiding place. Normally, hiding in the landing gear was as comfortable and safe as slitting your wrists and sleeping in a crocodile tank but Alex had a screwdriver and a modified panel. As soon as the landing gear folded up, he'd dislodged that panel then shimmied into a storage space in the main hull where he'd stayed, cramped, for the rest of the flight. Thank God for Mach speeds. 

He stuck his head out of the cabinet. Hearing only the sound of waves against the hull-- since when were Blackbirds amphibious?-- Alex crawled onto the passenger cabin proper, dragging an equipment bag with him. It contained one Kevlar uniform almost to size, a SIG Saur and an MK 23 with a crapload of magazines, a dive knife, two SOG knives, a pup knife, a pair of arnis sticks plus his very favourite sais. God bless the ridiculously easy gun laws in New York and his mother for giving him a blond, blue-eyed face of innocence. For added cool, he'd also tucked a multi-plier scavenged from the hangar's toolbox.

After taking a quick review of the island's terrain from the jet's computers, Alex looked out at the ocean. It was going to be a hell of a swim. The wound in his shoulder was bound to act up. In many of his competitions, people used freezing to keep going after an injury. Good thing he used it a couple times in high school; he recognised the name in the Blackbird's medicine supply. One jab should do it.


	59. Everything Slowly Goes Horses

**Everything Slowly Goes Horses**

Shit hit the fan in slow motion. The Thief in front of Scott froze, his shoulders shivering with tension. He raised his hands over his head, still in slow motion, and whispered the worst phrase in the English language. 

"Uh-oh."

Scott's blood turned to ice. His heart slowed as it always did in times of stress, that peculiar physiological quirk he shared with his father and Remy. When Remy turned around, expression grim, he mouthed the words that Scott already anticipated. "We gotta go."

Three darts appeared on the first Thief's jugular. Another dart embedded itself in his shoulder. He dropped like a sandbag.

"Idiotic gorilla," whispered Spat.

"What happened?" Scott asked Remy.

"He didn't do what I told him," said Remy. "Ego."

Well, he'd know a lot about that wouldn't he? "This is Cyclops. Abort mission. Abort mission." Scott grabbed Remy's collar as he turned to run.

"We got an early alert on the compound's computers. What the hell happened?" Wolverine demanded, his voice faint and broken by the building's interference.

"I think we tripped a silent alarm," said Scott. "We have one man down. I repeat, abort--"

"Gav!" he heard Jubilee cry through the commes.

Then, like a rubber band stretched to its limit, trouble descended in fast forward. The hallways thrummed with booted footsteps in all directions.

"Shit shit shit shit," Remy chanted. "Stupid fucks called everyone in the damn compound."

"Does this mean we get a refund?" asked Warren. "Even a partial-- aargh!" His voice cut on a pained grunt.

A troop of guards filed into the hallway. Scott flattened against the wall as Remy charged a handful of cards and threw them into the middle of the line. He dove for the ground, throwing more low charges as Scott shot off a series of high blasts.

"The hell was that?" Remy demanded.

"We don't take lives."

"You better tell them that." He swung his arm back, winding up to pitch more cards. Scott could tell that Remy meant to blow the ceiling down. He headed off half of the cards with his blasts then shot low and wide, whipping the guards' legs out from under them.

"I said no casualties," he snarled at Remy.

"Eat my shorts." He took lead out the corridor again but Scott didn't have time to reprimand him again.

"Status," he barked into the commes.

"Iceman's damaged but not down," said Wolverine. "Gav's hit bad. They shot us with something that jammed our powers."

Colossus' report had a hint more urgency. "We have one thief down. Whatever they hit us with, Angel's having a bad reaction to it, he's-- " Static drowned out the rest of the sentence but he came on again, sounding more assured. "We're in the water now, heading for the jet to prepare for take off. What else should we do?"

"You're doing fine," said Scott. "Get her ready to go on my command; we're at the first checkpoint now and should be-- shit!"

A volley of darts flew down the corridor. Remy slammed him against the wall even as he released several cards blindly behind him. Spat slid head first around the corner of the corridor, ensuring her safety. Wishing her luck on his escape, Scott wrenched his head over Remy's shoulder, searching for a target. A six-foot tall tornado with a cackling head whirled down the corridor. Darts and blades flew from the human tornado's funnel, showering the walls and floor with sharp metal. Scott opened his visor wide, blasting a long, hard shot in the target's mid-section. Only when the thud of a body dropped did he close the visor.

"Come on." He pushed Remy off.

Remy gasped. Reaching out to yank at his arm, Scott paused. Something was off.

Something...

Remy gasped again. His hands went to his throat as he scrabbled to remove his mask.

Quickly taking measure of the surroundings, Scott helped him. "Gambit? What's wrong?"

But the answer to his question was all too obvious. Blotchy redness washed over Remy's face. His lips were blue and his breathing laboured.

"Oh no no nonono." Scott spun his brother around, searching for those damned darts. They were tranquilizers. Fucking tranquilizers. He could have dealt with bullets, lasers, flame-throwers but not tranquilizers. "Hold still, Gambit. I'm looking for it. Dammit!"

There. One lone dart entering at an angle on Remy's back. An inch to the right and it would have glanced off the Kevlar but those darts must have been made for elephants because it went right through the leather. Scott drew it out and threw it down the hall.

"Where's your epi-pen?" he asked Remy.

Remy shook his head.

"You don't have it with you? Dammit, they said bring it _everywhere_ and they _mean_ every where! What--" He broke the tirade off. This wasn't going to do them any good. The jet had epinephrine shots but they were still ten minutes away from the door and at least another ten minutes to pilot the boat back to the jet considering Angel may not be able to fly Remy back. By that time, it would be too late. On the other hand, they just passed by a clinic which would undoubtedly have stores of the stuff in its shelves.

Scott slung one of Remy's arms around his neck. "Breathe slowly. Concentrate on expanding and deflating your chest okay?" As soon as Remy nodded, he led him back down the hallway. "We're going to get you some epinephrine but it's in the first checkpoint-- the clinic that we passed a couple yards back. You have to hang on until then."

Remy shook his head. "Have to. Escape. Reinforcements."

"We're going to escape," said Scott. "Just as soon as we take care of you. And the next time you don't bring your epi-pen, I'm going to kill you."

"Brought it. Broke. Felt crack."

"We're buying you an adamantium shot next time."

"For. Rock hard. Ass."

"Trust you to be egotistical at a time like this."

His comme crackled. Storm's voice came through, stiff with worry. "Everyone's accounted for except you and Gambit. What's your ETA?"

"Don't worry about that. Just make sure everyone gets in and you get the Bird in the air as scheduled."

"Cyclops, they are catching up to us."

"Then pull out, Storm. Use the emergency evac procedure."

A charged paused filled the airwaves. "We have a seven-minute window before their antiaircraft gets a lock."

"Acknowledged. Cyclops out." As he closed the clinic door, he told Remy, "Lean up against the wall while I look for your medicine."

"Fuh-fuh--" Remy couldn't get the word out any more; his throat was swollen to twice its normal size, his breath hissed although his mouth was wide open and he teetered on his legs. Scott nearly wrecked the cabinets in his search, one ear out for more guards and the other keeping track of Remy's breathing. Footsteps buffeted the floor on the other side of the door. Remy gurgled for air.

The fifth cabinet yielded gold. Scott snatched two vials of epinephrine then ran back to one of the first drawers he'd explored which held boxes of wrapped syringes and needles. There wasn't enough time to disinfect the injection site; assembling the shot already took up precious minutes.

The door rattled as Scott jabbed the needle into Remy's arm, his neck having gotten too large for any needle to penetrate. He prepped the other shot but as he did so, Remy's legs gave and he collapsed on the floor. A mechanical whine came from the hallway followed in seconds by a red beam. Scott knelt, Remy's head on his lap, and injected the second epinephrine shot an inch below the first one as a laser burned through the metal door.

"Work," Scott ordered as if the medicine could hear him much less obey.

Black and grey uniformed men walled off the exit as the door came down.

Without moving from his crouch, Scott fired an optic blast. The visor stayed open as he stood over Remy whose breathing remained laboured. He needed oxygen; he'd pass out soon without it. Scott had every intention of blowing away every person in this building until they let him alone long enough to find a ventilator for Remy.

An unseen hand batted his visor from his face. Scott automatically shut his eyes, facing away from Remy. His opponents cheered, sensing a quick defeat. They didn't know him too well. Knowing his visor was a weakness during combat, Scott often trained blindfolded. He grabbed the bo from Remy's belt then, quickly drew a circle between him and Remy and the rest of the hallway.

"You know kung-fu, four-eyes?" The taunt came from high one o' clock, approximately ten feet away. Scott turned his head in that direction and opened his eyes.

Two guards flew to the end of the hallway. Scott closed his eyes again. There was shuffling at five o' clock. He threw the bo back, arm stiff then twirled it back around as he spun on his heel to blast them away. The bo slid under and behind his arm to smack solidly against a rib cage. Scott twirled the bo again.

"So you think you're Chuck Norris, huh?" This new voice came directly at twelve o' clock. "That might work one-on-one. Let's see how you do with a dog pile."

Setting his lips, Scott swung the bo again in a wide arc. He nudged Remy with his foot as he swung the bo again, a location check. Still no one came forward. Their combined murmuring masked individual movements. The hallway's acoustics didn't help much either; the noises echoed in all directions.

"If I don't get my visor back," said Scott, "I'm just going to open my eyes and blast whoever and whatever's in my way. If you think I'm bluffing, please remember that I have nothing left to lose."

Silence met his demand.

"Fine."

Scott unleashed Armageddon.

He would have succeeded. He had Remy slung over his shoulders and was walking backwards to the exit, his eyes still open. The guards and their guns broke away to reveal a half dozen mutants in white uniforms. A woman with green hair stretched out her arms. Nausea staggered Scott but he gritted his teeth and glared at her. The blast threw her off her feet. As he shook the dizziness away, a purple-grey man elongated his entire upper body; he looked like animated tar. To the left, a behemoth began charging. Scott swept the hallway from right to left. The behemoth stumbled back but the tar guy reformed like nothing had hit him. Scott dodged the first fist but the second one wrapped around behind him and enveloped his head. He blasted it away. He would have succeeded.

But something cracked the back of his skull. Warmth spread over his entire body for a second before Scott blacked out.

* * *

Alex had just reached the island when the shit hit the fan. Shouting, gunfire and explosions filled his commelink as he leaned against a tree and dragged precious, precious oxygen to his weary muscles. After hooking up his commelink, it took a few seconds of concentration to filter out each individual voice. What he heard wasn't very comforting. 

"Everyone's accounted for except you and Gambit. What's your ETA?" asked Storm. She sounded slightly preoccupied; she was probably frying people with lightning. Alex wondered what lighting would do to an underground room that seemed to be metal-plated.

"Don't worry about that," came Scott's voice. "Just make sure everyone gets in and you get the Bird in the air as scheduled."

"Cyclops, they are catching up to us."

"Then pull out, Storm. Use the emergency evac procedure."

"We have a seven-minute window before their antiaircraft will get a lock."

"Acknowledged. Cyclops out."

Wait.

Wait, wait, _wait_.

Scott wasn't doing what Alex thought he was doing, was he?

It was time to break his silence. "What's going on?"

"Who is this?" demanded Wolverine.

"Alex."

"Get off the fucking airwaves, kid. We have to maintain--" The rest was lost on a feral growl.

"Alex, tell the professor that we had to abort the mission," said Storm. "Angel, Iceman and Gav are injured; Cyclops and Gambit have been compromised. We will attempt to retrieve them ASAP."

"What went wrong?"

"Our powers were dampened," said Storm. "They injected many of us with something that prevented us from accessing our full powers. The numbers we could have dealt with, but this... chemical inhibitor." She sounded lost. It occurred to Alex that Storm was one of the few people in the school who obviously _loved_ their mutation.

"So what now?" he asked.

"Now we regroup and plan another retrieval. They will be twice as prepared now, first with Gaveedra's escape and now with the break-in. We will need to--" She stopped. Alex could practically hear her massaging her temples. "Please inform the professor that we need to debrief in order to plan our next move. We are two hours and six minutes from arrival."

"I'd love to do that, Storm, except I'm not in the mansion." Alex took stock of his surroundings. "I seem to be two miles southeast of the Drop-Off C and, damn, whatever it is that you guys did, it's making a hell of a plume this far."

"What?" Storm shouted. The clouds gathered far in the horizon presumably where the Blackbird was although with its speed and cloaking device, Alex couldn't be sure. "We're turning back around right now."

"You may want to rethink that, Storm. It sounds to me like they fired anti-aircraft. Even if they don't hit you, the smoke could give your position away or the shockwaves throw off your clocking. I'll be fine."

"You are a civilian," said Storm.

"Technically, I'm a military brat," said Alex. "We're a helluva lot more resilient than civilians."

"Alex!"

"You're wasting time turning around! Get help. I'll scope out the defensive additions and report when you come back."

Hisses and mumbles came through the airwaves, maybe Logan and the others discussing. When Storm came back on, she was curt. "Do not attempt to confront the guards. You're there simply to collect information, understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"If Cyclops doesn't flay you for disobeying orders, I will do it myself. We aren't related; your body cannot negate my powers."

"Yes, ma'am. Understood, ma'am."

She added something along the lines of "finally understand why Scott gets so upset" but she cut the connection before the sentence ended.

* * *

It took everything Adam had not to say anything when he saw one of the targets emit an optic blast. Telepaths were a dime a dozen in the pens, super-strength practically mediocre and energy converters of every sort made up a large portion of the mutant/clone population he'd met, real or virtual. No one else had optic blasts except Scott. 

Hanging back, he looked around for some way to help. Smooth concrete hallways faced him at all sides without even the quintessential fire alarm to use as a distraction. Adam fingered the pistols in his leg holsters. Bullets flew everywhere. If one or two of the troops were shot--

A video camera blinked red as he unsnapped the holsters. Okay, so this could be on video. Maybe if he upped the klutz factor, they wouldn't suspect him as much.

"Wooohoo! Let me at a piece of that!" Adam shouldered his way through the ranks, waving his pistols. Firing one shot over his head for effect, he shot two more down the hall. "Whoops."

"X-treme, stand down!" yelled Scalphunter. "Let the more experienced take care of this."

Adam jutted his chin out. "Go on, you science fair rejects," he said under his breath. "Keep on treating me like a baby. That's just the way I like it."

Pressed in the back of the troop, nearly invisible in the uproar, Adam managed to shoot five more targets. He tried to tell himself that he only disabled them; no one ever died of a bullet in the leg. And besides, Scott was in trouble. It was okay to shoot people if Scott was in trouble.

Right?

* * *

The humidity in Hawai'i did little to prepare Alex for the Genoshan jungle. He was no survivalist; no way would he have been able to find his way into the facility just using a compass and a mental map. Instead, he walked along the beach, figuring he'd hit the port that Gav had used to escape. It was as close to a weak point that he could figure. In the movies, the place would have one hidden weak spot that they could blow up but Alex wasn't counting on anything easy. Summers' didn't do easy. 

Forty-five minutes of jogging later, he found the port. He also found the loudly populated village that surrounded the port. Gav hadn't mentioned that in his report although Alex couldn't figure out how something this classically National Geographic could be missed. Men and women sauntered through dirt streets carrying cloth-covered baskets, chatting as they went about their daily routine. Kids played with sticks and bike wheels. A speckled dog yipped as it chased unseen prey. All the scene needed was an Oxford-accented narration. So much for an unobserved look around.

Alex had two options: to jog back to the beach or find a way around the village. The choice was a no-brainer. He crawled backwards on his stomach to stay out of view until he reached the edges of the jungle. Then, keeping the beach visible on his left but making sure to keep enough foliage between him and the shore, he walked in the direction of the village, trying not to think of venomous animals, bogs and giant mosquitoes, never mind the mad scientists.

Approaching the village took longer because of all the precautions. Somewhere between the long-ass snake coiled around a branch a foot away and the growing weight of the SIG Saur, the enormity of his stupidity hit Alex. He wasn't a mobster or a vigilante for mutant liberation; he was a geology student with an inflated sense of importance; an unusual talent for martial arts and an ex-jock did not a commando make. If these guys managed to take down his brothers, they could take him down with their eyes closed and that made him want to shit his pants.

Alex crouched behind the village, uncertain of his next action. Should he just sit here and take in information? Should he double back and wait for reinforcements? Or should he continue recon for the rest of the island?

A villager literally held the decision in his hands as he emerged from a doorless hut with a friend. A black, reinforced leather and Kevlar jumpsuit hung over his arm, one sleeve missing. Half of the subtle "X" piping showed, red like Scott's suits.

"I reckon this would make a good bike vest," the villager told his friend. "The subject won't need it any more and it's damn fine material."

"Too fine," said the friend. "If someone recognizes the make, it'll get your ass in shit. That's providing the bosses don't make you eat it. Just toss it in the incinerator like you're told."

"Do you know how much this much Kevlar goes for? This is SHIELD-quality shit. Besides, its previous owner's permanent vat mix."

"Fine, keep it. Just don't blame me when you get your ass fired. Literally."

Alex followed the pair as they strolled further north.

"We've had escapes before," said the one holding the X-Men uniform. "If the brainchips don't finish 'em off, the collars do."

"Speaking of which, did you see what they did with the muties that escaped?"

"No, they keep me with the vats."

"I heard they have the collars and the vats working them over. Cold huh?"

"Not surprising. Between getting beat and beating on your own people, everyone chooses the path of less pain."

* * *

The air nudged a long-dormant memory that Remy had no desire to awaken. He opened his eyes to frightening sterility. The nightmare-ish scent came from a mask covering the lower half of his face. Tubes and wires disappeared into his arms and chest. He felt one of the fluids leak into his veins. Knowing how dangerous those drugs could be to his system, he tried to yank the tubes off but found that he couldn't move. 

Monotone blobs wiggled in and out of his vision. Remy blinked. The blurs moved across his field of view, never coalescing into whole images. Blindness didn't usually bother Remy; he'd had to operate in complete darkness many times. But that combined with the tubes and the whirring of machines did bad, bad things to his blood pressure.

_Move, move, move_, he willed his body but nothing happened.

The mechanical sound drew closer. The liquid around him-- oh shit, he was under water?-- lapped around his body like a large, obscene tongue. He shuddered, feeling bile come up his throat. _If you threw up under water, would you drown from the vomit or the water?_

The source of the whirring rose into view. It was a sleek piece of machinery that looked like the brainchild of H.R. Giger and the makers of the Dirt Devil. Banded coils slithered around his legs as the machine rose higher and higher. It stopped right in front of his groin.

_Okay, on second thought, I'd like to go into anaphylactic shock now please._

With a click, the machine snapped between his legs. On the upper surface of the machine, a series of red and green lights flashed. Remy tried not to scream. He couldn't even if he wanted to because there was yet another tube forced down his throat, gagging his voice box. The machine opened and he had the impression of gel-like compartments surrounding the ol' sausages and eggs before his mind blanked out for a few seconds as it tried to process what the fucking hell was going on.

He was...

The machine was...

Okay. _Okay_, clinically, it was everything that should feel good and give a guy an orgasm. A warm, moist, soft compartment; a gentle sucking; up-and-down motion around his shaft; there was even something poking around his prostate which wasn't new but not something his lovers did often. Technically, this was the best damn blowjob in his life.

It was just being done by a vacuum cleaner. That wasn't his thing. So it was unsurprising when, even after several minutes of stimulation, Remy was only half-hard. Evidently, the machine took umbrage to that because he felt a tiny needle prick at the top of his thigh, right into his femoral artery. Heat pooled out of the injection site. Remy's breathing deepened, his pulse quickening. Despite himself, his erection grew and the machine's ministration responded to it. A familiar tightening began low on his abdomen.

_It fucking gave me a roofie,_ Remy thought, pretty much on the brink of hysteria._ A vacuum has just given me a roofie and is about to rape me. Jesus H. Christ on a pogo stick._

He detached himself from reality in time for the first forced ejaculation. Hours later, he still didn't know how to get back.


	60. Tables Turned

**Tables Turned**

For Adam, seeing Scott collared, naked and bruised was a frillion times worse than being in the tubes himself. Scott was his big brother, _the_ big brother. He was larger than life. When he was little, he was more terrified of Scott than of the principal. His helplessness was so very wrong on so very many levels that Adam didn't quite register Essex's words until Cadre prompted him with a shove. 

He looked up at the doctor's face, blinking in confusion. Essex, OR, Scott, SNAFU. Right.

"I asked you what you knew about this," Essex repeated.

"Nothing," said Adam honestly. "I... I thought they'd stopped looking. It's been months right? If they were still looking, they'd've found me earlier."

Essex lowered his chin and did the proper facial movements for a frown. "I suppose you will now attempt to free him."

Shaking his head, Adam said, "No fucking way. _He_ abandoned me first." At Essex's inquiring expression, he kept on babbling. "If you heard anything I said in the third floor or did any research on us at all, you'd know that we're not close. I haven't talked to Scott face to face in years! And when he does visit, it's to haul my ass over stupid things that he's never around to see. He fucking loves his students more than he ever loved me."

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Vertigo pretending to play a violin. Adam whirled around, fists clenched.

"Don't make fun of me, skank bag."

Vertigo made a face. "Watch who you're calling a skank, you little gaylo--"

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Essex clapped his hands for attention. "Now is not the time for quarrelling in the ranks. This problem can be solved easily enough." He turned to address Adam. "What is your brother's power?"

"The ability to stick a ten-foot pole up his ass?" Essex's frown lines deepened so Adam answered a little more truthfully, "Some sort of laser thing from his eyes. I don't know a lot about it. He went somewhere to get glasses for it and then suddenly, he was too cool for all of us."

"Hmm, so you would not be opposed to having him undergo the same process that you did?"

"Hell no. Pitch him in the pens as much as you like; it'll do him good to have someone beat him up for a change."

"You showed none of this hostility towards him when you spoke of him during your stay on the third floor."

Adam rolled his eyes. "Look, Gav-- Cadre seemed to want a way out. So I hyped up my brothers' connections. Scott has some military mutant school somewhere and Remy's gangster; they're connections enough to get them here."

"And yet they would not have gone through that effort if you were not important."

Hoo-boy. This was going to stretch his lying capabilities to the max. "I don't know why they tried. Maybe it was Scott's anal-retentive need to be in control of everything he surveys. Maybe Remy's bosses thought a guy who couldn't protect his brother wasn't worth keeping in the family. I don't know why they did it, I don't know why they took so long to do it but I'm not surprised that they fucked up when they did do it. Are we done now or do we have to hash my fucking brothers over again like I've had to do all my life up to this point?"

Cadre snuggled in. Adam didn't think it was out of character to shrug him off; he just couldn't take that right now. "Is this line of questioning necessary, doctor?" asked Cadre. "After all, you have almost all of X-treme's genetic line now. The flatscan brother will be captured easily enough."

Essex hummed. "Time _is_ of the essence. You are all dismissed." He turned his back then, slowly, turned again. "On second thought, there is one thing you can do to quell my doubts."

"What?" asked Adam. "Name it."

"Strap him into the operating table," said Essex. "As long as I have to operate on his injuries, I might as well have a glance at the clockworks, so to speak."

Adam threw up a little bit in his mouth. "Sure," he managed to blurt out with reasonable conviction.

At six foot nothing, Scott was the shortest brother. Adam topped him by a whole inch, a fact that he took pride in. Like Remy, Scott was more lanky than ripped but every pound in his body was muscle. Teaching applications to Mutant High apparently required gorilla wrestling as work experience. Adam had worked out since being carted to the third floor, of course, he had martial arts classes pre- and post-kidnapping and he could hold his own with Gav which was a glowing recommendation for the UFC if ever there was one. Still, carrying Scott to that table was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

One of Scott's eyes, the one that wasn't swollen like a ping pong blal, cracked open. Adam flinched before remembering that he had a suppression collar on. The last time he saw Scott's eyes, he'd been seven years old with no front teeth, still confusing "d's" and "b's" when writing. Scott had always crouched down to talk to him so that they could speak eye-to-eye. No one else did that; he never told Scott how much he appreciated that small consideration.

_Don't think about it,_ he ordered himself. _Don't think about homework help or cutting the crusts off your sandwiches or making hot chocolate on the stove or any of the billion things that'll make it hard for you to do this._

Without care for Scott's injuries, Adam hauled him onto the operating table like a bale of hay. A pained groan wheezed out of him. When his bare brown eye closed, Adam gulped down the lump in his throat.

* * *

"This is _not_ going to work," Alex muttered to himself even as he sized up a possible victim. The plan was simple: grab a guard of similar height and colouring, knock him on the head, wear his uniform, use his passes to gain access and generally wreak havoc inside the building until the X-Men came back with reinforcements. He wouldn't feel the need for it if the X-Men actually returned within a decent amount of time. The sun had set two hours ago and there was still no sign of them. Alex _had_ to do something to keep these guys from turning his brothers into "vat mix." 

Hence the plan. It was hokey and right of out every action film Hollywood shovelled out but Alex didn't have the time or the manpower for anything more creative. And he was hungry. He could never access his smarts on low blood sugar.

Several guards were too short, many too dark and quite a few were women. Just as he despaired of finding a six-foot-three, blond, Caucasian guard, one jumped out of a Jeep, cheerily waving his semiautomatic at the rest of the passengers. Convenient.

"And what are the chances he's going to go this way?"

But he _did_ head to the teeming compound, nodding to various personnel as he walked towards the back of the village where huts gave way to cement and metal-plated loading docks. Lots of guards congregated there; Alex didn't plan on using that for his entry. No, he wanted in through the little dirt hut. All evening, he'd watched a dozen people go in and out of that place, never the same people twice. Something twelve feet across couldn't hold that many people for very long unless they were real friendly.

The blond guard didn't enter the loading dock right away leaning instead behind some wooden crates to light a cigarette. Alex had to get him to the edge of the jungle without attracting the rest of the guards. He snuck closer to the loading doors, sticking to the shadows of the bushes and trees.

The guard was chatting with someone not visible as he smoked. Bad, very bad. Alex picked up a pebble and threw it at a truck parked several meters away. Predictably, the blond guard and his buddy turned around to look. Alex used their distraction to run deeper into the foliage, making sure to crack branches and stomp on twigs. When he finally ducked into a clump of over-sized leaves, he saw the blond guard jogging in with another two guards at his back.

"Home, we're just checking on a disturbance in Sector A7," said the blond. "It's probably just wildlife but you did tell us to be paranoid."

All three of them charged to bushes. When they passed his hiding place, Alex sprang out, knocking two down with arnis sticks to their windpipes. The third fired a shot before Alex whacked the weapon away and slammed the arnis stick into his temple.

Undressing the knocked-out guard was harder than he estimated. Alex muttered a blue streak as he worked.

"Lake-2, Lake-2, we heard gunfire. Report," crackled the blond's walkie.

Alex snapped the hat on his head as he grabbed the walkie from the guard's belt. "Uh, yeah, Home, this is Lake-2. I'm in Sector A7 with, uh--" he checked the other two guards' uniforms-- "with Lake-3 and -10. 10 got a little jumpy and shot at a goddamn lemur. Rest assured I will, uh, mock him for days. Over." He dropped the walkie and set to wrenching the blond's jacket off.

Home chuckled. "Okay, Lake-2. Understandable given the events of the past weeks. Just give me the password and we'll put this down as a false alarm."

Password? Shitcakes. He hadn't even gotten the guards' pants unbuttoned. Time to stall. "Yeah, another false alarm. How many of those have we had?"

"We'd rather have too many than get taken by surprise."

"I guess that's fair. Hey, did we get all the turncoats? I'd like to have a go at smashing their bits in if only for the extra duties."

"They're all in lock down."

"Awesome. When do we get a go at them?" Pants off! Alex wiped the sweat from his brow.

Home didn't reply for a few seconds. "Lake-2, do you have a password for us?"

Double shitcakes. These guys were pros. Time for an even bigger distraction.

"Yeah, it's--holy _shit_!" Alex fired the guard's machine gun as he yelled. "Ambush! Ambush! It wasn't a lemur!" He fired his own handgun, too. "They got 3! Send backup! Send--" Throwing the walkie on the ground, he stomped on it. He fired off more shots then grabbed the clothes, another walkie, and ran. Engines revved and men barked orders as plants crunched under a dozen booted feet. Where the heck could he run?

True to form, Alex ran straight into the little hut that served as the entry into the laboratory compound. After all, everyone else was headed for the woods.

* * *

Adam pondered the best places to be thoroughly sick. If he went to the bathroom here in the dorm, everyone would know. If he tried one of the public toilets out in the hallway, he'd have his two bodyguards with him and they'd know. If he just sat here and vomited all over his himself, everyone would know. And he'd smell. 

Two hours wasn't enough to get over the fact that you'd handed over your big brother to a mad scientist.

"Are you all right?" Cadre draped himself all over Adam.

That was the other thing. Cadre was seriously developing a bad case of bad touch. Gav groped a lot but never with the sense of... possession. Adam really didn't have the patience for it right now.

"I'm just remembering stuff," said Adam. "Stuff I'd rather not remember."

"Your unhappy childhood." Cadre tucked some of Adam's hair behind his ear. "We shall create new, happier memories."

Yuck. Which soap opera did he get that out of? And what kind of demented idiot would think that being a mutant mercenary was at all conducive to making happy memories?

"I... I need a few minutes to think," said Adam. "I'm going to walk around for a bit."

"A walk would be most pleasant." Cadre jumped up.

Truly irritated, Adam asked, "Can't I even have a nice, angst-filled walk alone around the block like a normal teenager?"

"No."

Well, that taught him. Adam had his walk with Cadre and Vertigo trailing three feet behind, muttering to each other.

"Naw, all outsider kids go through this phase," Vertigo was telling Cadre.

"It is not disinterest?"

"Man, you should've seen me at seventeen."

Mutant mercs gossiped about each other. How nauseatingly normal.

Adam didn't know what about the guard loitering near the supply root caught his attention. Maybe it was his height-- there weren't a lot of guards around here that topped six feet. Maybe it was his stance. Something switched Adam's newfound danger-sense on.  
The tall guard flailed his arms at another two, hissing something with great urgency. His buddies didn't look too impressed. Their hands rested on their gun holsters. As he drew closer, Adam saw a black backpack that had blended in with the tall guard's uniform. A large University of Hawai'i emblem patched a net pocket on one side of the bag. Another patch, this one for the Dog Brothers, sat on the top. A flaming happy face decorated a strap.

That was Alex's bag.

Adam studied the features visible under the guard's cap. Unlike a lot of high school jocks, Alex's boyish cuteness aged into a classically handsome profile.

_Alex, you ass, what were you thinking of?_ Adam thought, irritated. Was he going to have to rescue _everyone_?

Elevator lights came up to Adam's right. He slipped into it as soon as the doors opened, shoving the previous passengers out. Before those doors slid closed all the way, he prised the rear ones open. The laboratory was built like a maze to make it harder to get around but Adam had the maps memorised. Mostly. He hoped.

Three lefts and a right later, he was back in the corridor he'd escaped from only on the other side of the supply room. Adam tiptoed behind Alex who had his hands up, the guards' guns pointed at his face. Checking to make sure his gun's safety was on, Adam reversed his hold and swung the butt at Alex's head. His older brother dropped back into him like a rock. A very heavy rock. A frickin' boulder! Did the guy take 'roids?

"We have it from here," said the guard.

"Good." Adam slammed both his guns at the guards' throats and, as they fell, clutching their crushed windpipes, he clocked them again for good measure.

With them out cold and his own tails out of sight, Adam dragged Alex into the supply room. He was already stirring. Adam let his arms go, kneeling in front of Alex's face so that he'd recognize him right away.

"Hi."

Alex blinked myopically. "You hit me."

"Uh-huh. It was fun. Can we do it again?"

"As soon as you stop spinning, I'm going to beat your ass."

Adam pulled on a chin-wibbly Disney face. "I missed you, too, you big dumb jock."

"I fucking mean it, you-- hey." Alex grabbed the front of Adam's jacket, peering blearily at the insignia over his heart. "You're one of them."

"Sort of."

"Oh good. I get to hit you harder. Dude, your eyes are all Remy-esque."

"What do you mean?"

"They're totally black. At least come up with an original physical permutation of your powers."

Adam rolled his eyes. "I feel like I'm home already."

After shaking his head vigorously, Alex palpated the tender spot behind his ear. "Did you have to hit so hard?"

"You yell when you're angry and I didn't know how long it would take for my teammates to realise that I slipped away."

"Dude, are you _really_ working for them?"

"It was play along or get stuck in a giant test tube with catheters in unspeakable orifices for another few months. The choice is pretty obvious, don't you think?"

"Unspeakable orifices? Fiend. You speak multisyllabically. Who are you and what have you done with my real baby brother?"

"Ha-fucking-ha. You should take your show on the road." Adam cracked the door open. There was still no sign of Cadre or Vertigo. "Come on, we have to find Scott and Remy."

Alex crawled up the wall. "I'll be right there as soon as my brain stops bleeding and my arm re-attaches to my shoulder."

"Oh, stop whining. I thought you were the big, tough muscle. Suck it up, soldier."

"Hey, I got shot in the shoulder! It needed stitches and glue and shit."

"Do not compare injuries with me; I'll totally win." Adam slid back out into the corridor.

A hand squeezed his neck. "I knew we couldn't trust you," said Cadre, his tone casual. "Where did you-- argh!" He jerked his hand off, stumbling away with a sai through his booted foot.

"Shitcakes!" Alex fell on his butt, eyes wide like he'd been the one stabbed.

Adam focussed on the wound. "Burn," he commanded with great satisfaction.

Cadre's foot sizzled. Adam took a deep breath and squinted; Cadre shrieked, falling to the floor, clutching his leg in agony, his entire body convulsing. The smell of burnt meat filled the air.

Alex shook off his shock. "Remind me to tap you for our next barbeque," he said with a casualness that didn't reach his eyes.

"You're sick and wrong in the head," said Adam. "Let's go before Vertigo gets here."

Alex slung his backpack on securely and checked his weapons. "Vertigo is?"

"Right behind you." As Adam's second tail spoke, the world went upside-down and inside-out. Adam fell, knees cracking on the cement but he didn't even care. He was going to vomit so badly. The walls warped around his body, sucking his head into a black hole--

Then it stopped.

Adam looked up. Alex had Vertigo in an arm-hold, a big ass knife stuck under her chin. "Good girl," said Alex. "Now, tell me where you took Cyclops and Gambit."

"Never!" Vertigo spat.

Sighing, Alex tried again. "Vertigo, I am very, very hungry. When I get hungry, I get cranky. When I get cranky, I get mean. When I get mean, I do all sorts of stuff that look really, really good in a Quentin Tarantino movie."

"It's true," Adam said helpfully. "I'm seen him. He gets like a rabid Golden Retriever. There's foam and growling; it's horrible."

"Now, to top that all off, you have my brothers captured somewhere, diddling around their insides and pumping them full of drugs. My brothers pay for the lifestyle to which I have become accustomed including, but not limited to, my meals. If they die or in any way become so incapacitated that they can no longer support me, I will be hungry forever. Forever, Vertigo." Alex emphasized his words by drawing the knife across her throat, leaving an angry pink line. "Now I know you're a mutant and can do all sorts of shit to mess me up but really? All that means is that I'm going to be desperate enough to do whatever it takes to put you down. So, I repeat: Where did you take Gambit and Cyclops?"

* * *

_Because I can be a bit of a n00b about even after all these years, I keep forgetting to reply to reviewers who aren't signed in. With great apologies, here are some replies to your questions for the past three chapters._

_**DG:** That review for Ch 52 ROCKED ego-boos. Thanks!_

_**Black Mirror:** Thanks ever so! Hope you come around again!_

_**Doesn't Matter:** Hee! Thanks!_

_** 4Rogue:** Awww, I think you're being too hard on Scott. It's not easy being the eldest and de facto brother to these three and we all know Scott has a sliiiiiiiight problem with expressing himself emotionally. Warren knew about the Bobby-Rogue-Jubilee situation 'cause, let's face it, it's a small school. Everyone knows everyone's business and Warren is Bobby's mentor in a lot of ways. In case you missed it, (or Scott didn't shout it loud enough ;)) Remy is 28 and Rogue is 17. The connection to Essex will be revealed but all the boys were created the good old-fashioned way.  
_

_**lovestoread:** Rogue's fate, I'm afraid, will take a while to figure out. As for Kitty, she literally came out of nowhere; I intended for Piotr and Alex to have the conversation but I realised that Piotr isn't really a techie person as much as he is mechanical._


	61. Blow Sh:t Up

**Blow Shit Up**

Wading through the pipes and tubes that carpeted the floor of this truly deranged laboratory, a thought played over and over in Alex's brain. "Why hasn't anyone come after us?" he asked Adam. 

His brother shrugged and kept checking the tanks for Remy.

"This doesn't worry you?"

"A little," said Adam. "But I figure, we get Remy and Scott, they blow shit up and we go hide out in the caves. The island's full of them."

"Great plan. Blow shit up. I thought you were a bad-ass merc now."

"Commentary from the guy who stole a guard's uniform and stumbled into the complex intending to fight an army of mutants and humans with two guns, four knives, and a pair of sais."

"And my arnis sticks."

"Oh yes. Foot long sticks. Smart."

"I suppose being a double agent to the mutant SS was just as smart."

"At least I had more training that you."

"I've been training my whole life."

"Tackling half-backs does not a boot camp make." Adam stopped. "Fuck."

Alex looked up at the giant glass canister. Remy floated in a transparent, iridescent gel with tubing and needles and a mask. "Motherfucking dickwads."

Adam could only nod. "They're using tranqs on him. It keeps us-- him-- them from moving around."

"It's a good thing they're not using bennies," said Alex.

"Not any more. They must've used those for the general dart guns. Remy got hit; him and Scott got trapped waiting for the medicine to kick in."

"Scott, you fucking hero." Alex moved over the panel and studied the display. "So what does this all mean?"

Adam shrugged. "I thought you'd know."

"Dude, I'm not an anaesthesiologist."

"You're better than me. You can pronounce asthelio--anasiotho--anastheso-- that word." Adam poked at the display. "That looks like a heart beat monitor. Like on TV."

"I'm really going to unhook Remy from a mutant-making machine according to your amazing television watching skills."

Adam shoved him. "Polemuncher."

"Slutbag."

With a deep exhalation, they stared at the monitor again.

"I say we grab a scientist," said Adam.

"Cool with me. I'm the bad cop."

"You were the bad cop last time. I wanna be the bad cop."

Smirking, Alex said, "Do you really think you'd pass as the bad cop?"

* * *

One pants-wetting (and subsequently unconscious) scientist later, Adam and Alex lifted a sopping wet Remy off the tank's platform and onto the laboratory floor. He was still out of it but at least the half dozen tubes were gone. 

Alex slapped Remy's face. "Wakey-wakey, pretty boy."

Remy turned his head away, murmuring incomprehensible words. His right leg trembled, a reaction to the drugs, Alex assumed.

"He's not going to wake up any time soon. We should look for Scott," said Adam. "He might still be in the OR with Essex.

"What is your fucking hurry to get the Elders?" Alex demanded. "We'll be just as trapped ever if--"

"Because I'm scared!" Adam said, the words exploding out of him. "I've spent God knows how long in here and I know what they can do to me when they're mad and I'm _scared_, Alex. Okay? I don't care if that makes me a wimp but I'm petrified and I want all my brothers with me because-- I don't know, just because!"

Alex blinked. "Okay. I was just asking," he said. "I need my hands free to fight. You carry Remy. And get him some pants, dude."

Goo dripped from Remy's body, dampening Adam's uniform. Adam wrinkled his nose. Cold, sticky gross and it was going to take forever to dry to a comfortable level. Alex shucked the scientist's pants and worked them over Remy's unresponsive legs. As soon as he was decent, they dragged him out of there and into the corridor. Alex tried to ignore the throbbing in his shoulder. He should've packed more dope for it.

"Which way to the OR?" he asked.

"One floor down, a couple hallways and two floors up," Adam replied.

Ten minutes later, Alex's paranoia only increased. "We've left a slime trail and haven't bothered to hide. Where are the guards? The alarms?"

"I don't know. Let's just keep going."

"It's a trap. I know it's a trap."

"You're probably right but at least we'll have Scott so two of us four can blow shit up," said Adam.

"You're counting way too much on the Elders' ability to blow shit up." Alex smacked Remy's face again. "Come on, wake up, oh living munitions store. You heard the kid. You're our only hope, Obi-Wan."

To his surprise, Remy spat out a gob of goo. "Don't hit me no more," he said, the words slurred.

Beaming, Adam almost stopped walking. "Remy! You're awake!"

Remy squinted into Adam's face. "Hey, Blue. You're all right." His head lolled back. "I like this. This is peaches. My toes are talking. Hi, toes."

Alex exchanged a look with Adam.

"Toes!" Remy chirped.

"He's high," said Alex, deadpan.

"Pterodactyls with béarnaise sauce, baby," Remy said, slurring less but also decreasing in coherence. "All of you. All of you. Totally. Toes."

Adam whimpered. "I changed my mind. We are so dead."

Alex' jaw hutted out. "Screw changing your mind. I did not come here, all Governatored out, losing my very favourite sai and splattered in eyeball juice to die. We're going to get out. We just have to visualise it."

"We're going to visualise ourselves out of the complex."

"Something like that."

Adam snorted. "You're higher than Remy."

"Ain't no one higher than me, baby," said Remy. "I am so high... soooo high, I can... I can... think. Of the stars. The stars are wishing. Wishing. And hoping. And thinking. And praying, doo-be-doo-be-dooooo."

"So. Dead," Adam repeated.

"Shut up and visualise."

The final corridor to the OR was empty. Guns armed, Alex eyed any nooks and crannies as best he could visually, straining to hear the tell-tale shuffling of hidden guards.

"Let's just go," said Adam. "I can't stand all this suspense."

"You're not visualising properly."

"I'm visualising not getting dead. I think that's the best you're going to pull out of me until I get the insanity thing down."

"Damn right the Fire Marshall wanna shut us down," sang Remy, "Get us out so someone can gun us down."

"Remind me to tell Remy never to start a rap career." Sighing, Alex stood. He checked the magazines on his guns and secured his blades. "Let's do this."

"We should do a power walk," said Adam, hitching Remy higher on his shoulders. "Every last stand needs a power walk."

Silence, all the way down to the nondescript white double-doors. Alex nudged at it with his toe. It creaked open, spilling bright, white light into the already well-lit hallway.

"Here goes," Alex muttered. He kicked the door wide open, his weapons at the ready.

Five people crowded around the operating table, one of them in white scrubs, the rest in the ubiquitous avocado green. They all looked up at the intrusion. The man in the white pulled his mask down.

"Alex."

Alex's injured arm stiffened. "Milbury?"

"Essex," corrected Adam.

"Goose," Remy contributed.

Milbury--Essex-- whoever-- dismissed his attendants with a nod. They quietly rushed out a side exit. Essex folded his hands at his waist. "I've been expecting you."

"We kind of guessed." Alex's finger eased over the trigger. "Close him up and let us go."

Essex smiled. It was the creepiest thing Alex had ever seen. "You must be bright enough to recognize that you don't have the upper hand here, Alex. At this very moment, there are twenty guards behind that door. Twenty more are at the two other exits to this room. The elevators have been shut down. The whole compound has been alerted to your presence ever since you disabled Vertigo and Cadre. We were simply waiting for you to find us." He tapped his collar. "Adam's uniform has a tracking device."

"Whatever," said Alex. "I'm plenty bright enough to recognize that I can shoot your crazy head off. I could say something about how I'm mean when I'm hungry but I already used that line."

"I don't want to hurt you or your brothers," said Essex.

Alex snorted.

"Truly, I don't. I consider the four of you more precious than gold."

"Why us?" asked Alex.

"I have already explained my reasons to your brother," said Essex, inclining his head towards Adam.

"Super-mutants," said Adam. "Truly creepy stalker activities. Except he told me that I was the only one and now that I've discovered the lie, I might need to talk to Dr. Phil about my issues. Oh yeah, something about taking over the world. "

"If he's the Brain, who's Pinky?" Alex asked.

"I like pink," said Remy. "Mmm-hmm, good."

Essex started to unfold his hands but Alex took a step forward. "You do not move without my say so. How far along the surgery is he?"

"We're almost through," said Essex. "His peritoneum is closed; all that remains to be done is to stitch the abdominal muscles and skin together."

"Okay, then you do that and we'll be on our way."

"I don't think so." Essex turned his head to the monitors above Scott. "In a few seconds, Scott will awaken in great pain. It would behove you all to remain here until he recovers. I don't know what would happen should he not receive proper medication. Infection. Inflammation. The shock of the pain alone could kill him."

On cue, Scott let out a gasp. His arms and legs pulled against its restraints. Pain carved lines into his face; Alex couldn't look away. Reholstering one of his guns, he used his injured arm to steady the weapon. He shot more accurately that way.

"We're not staying here to be your guinea pigs," he said.

A mockery of concern fixed itself on Essex's face. "X-treme, did you tell your brother nothing of my intentions?"

"We were a little busy kicking ass and taking names; it slipped my mind," said Adam.

Their voices must have penetrated through Scott's brain because he turned his head. His eyes were brown, Alex realised. He'd forgotten. Everyone always said that he looked like Dad and Scott looked like Mom except they switched colouring. Scott had huge brown eyes with ridiculously long eyelashes.

"Alex?"

"It's the rescue team, Scotty," Alex said. His voice was steady. Good.

"How'd you... get here?"

"I caught a taxi. The charge was ridiculous. Give us a few minutes and we're going bye-bye to Dr. Frankenstein."

"The last thing I want to do is destroy my Omegas," Essex said with a tone a parent would use on a bratty kid.

"First we're guinea pigs, now we're omelettes." Alex clicked his tongue. "I'm not feeling the love here, Franky-baby."

"Omegas," Essex corrected him. "Currently, mutants are categorised according to destructive capabilities: Class 1's are very simple physical mutations, Class 2's have more serious anatomical or physiological mutations including those that allow for low-level psionic powers. Energy-converters begin at Class 3 and the levels increase from there, culminating in Class 5's who could, theoretically, destroy a city. However, the current taxonomy doesn't account for multiple mutations."

"Not possible," said Scott, his words slurring.

"You are wrong." Essex smiled. Alex got goosebumps. "You yourself are the very definition of an Omega, a mutant with at least two Class 5 mutations."

Scott shook his head.

"Don't fear the reaper," said Remy. "Snap back to reality, baby rabbit."

"According to my sources," Essex continued, "Scott Summers has two Class 5 powers, one Class 3 and three Class 1's. You, Adam, have two Class 5's, two Class 3's and one Class 2. Remy seems to have two Class 5's and three Class 1's."

"Shucks, looks like I'm the odd one out again," said Alex only half-jokingly.

"Don't be too sure," said Essex. "Your powers could be latent as Adam's were before I induced the manifestation."

"Here I thought the tubes were just for pissing and shitting," said Adam.

"I have studied your DNA from a childhood sample. You have nearly immeasurable energy capabilities as well as the potential of interdimensional travel like all your brothers."

"You keep sweet-talking me like that and I might think you want to get in my pants," said Alex.

"He _does_," Adam said. "Just not the way you think."

"Kinky." To hell with this monologue. They didn't have any time left. Alex whipped out his other gun and gave Essex everything he had left. The doctor didn't have time to move; each bullet met its target.

He didn't fall. Or bleed. Or even let out a pained squeak.

Alex lowered his guns in disbelief. Essex shed his hole-ridden lab coat, folding it with precise movements before setting it on the counter behind him. The clothes he wore underneath were also ruined but the flesh beneath it was white and unmarked.

"Reaper," Remy repeated. "He gon' take you to bad, baaaad ju-ju, _hommes_. Plenty bad. With beignets."

"Thank you, peanut gallery," Alex said. "This just shitcakes with a side of shitsauce."

"Are you quite finished?" Essex inquired politely.

"Nope," said Adam. "I still have to wet my pants. Gimme another couple seconds and the snake will be well and truly strained."

"Your reactions in the face of acute danger are fascinating," said Essex. "I wonder if it is a result of environmental factors or an underlying genetic predisposition, perhaps an adrenal defect."

"I'm thinking stupidity myself," said Alex.

"He was talking about you, too," Adam said, shifting Remy up straighter.

"Like hell he was. Twerp."

"Dick."

"Twit."

"Dweeb."

"I hope it's environmental," Essex said in an undertone. "Admit defeat, Alex. This is all inevitable. With all four of you in my possession, the dream of an ultimate human race, stronger and more powerful than anything ever seen, is on the cusp of discovery. You can herald it in willingly or no; I have no preference either way."

Those twenty guards burst through the door, half aiming tranquilizer guns at Remy, the other half with rifles pointed at him and Adam. Adam gulped, looking to him for a solution. For the first time, everyone actually depended on him to solve the problem and Alex had a feeling he was going to let them all down.

He closed his eyes. Stress burned a path all the way to the back of his skull. Sweat popped out of his skin, suddenly drenching his shirt and dripping into his eyes.

"Alex." He barely heard Adam. "Alex, look at Scott."

Scott had gone into convulsions. The tendons in his neck strained and his chin trembled with the effort not to scream.

"The pain must be excruciating now," said Essex. "If you do not permit me to finish surgery, he will die of shock." He folded his hands in front of him, serene despite the pronouncement.

"You've tracked us for years," said Alex. "You're not going to just let Scott die."

"It wasn't in my plan, no," said Essex. "However, if there is no other choice, I can still harvest enough specimens from a dead body to satisfy my experiments for years. Harvest from CA-III-ASR3 has yielded in over three million viable gametes with test fertilizations averaging at ninety percent. Should you and the remaining brother require putting down, I'm certain I could do the same." He shrugged. "I doubt I will have to resort to that; you certainly value your brothers alive much more than I do."

Alex's hands shook with heat. The BP monitor's tempo sped up even further. Scott was so pale on the operating table. The pressure in Alex chest built up until he had to gasp for breath. His heartbeat pounded in his skull, adding to the burn.

A wrinkle appeared on Essex's brow. "The ambient temperature appears to have increased. Interesting."

Those were the last words Alex heard before heat exploded throughout his body and the world faded into whiteness.

* * *

Low-pitched ringing vibrated through Adam's braincase. He pressed the balls of his hands against his ears. The ringing didn't stop. He opened his eyes to the remains of a war zone. Burnt husks lay all around him, blackened and still smoking. The walls barely stood; what he thought was dust was actually dirt raining down from a hole at least thirty feet up. As he reached out for balance, his hand came down on Remy's bare leg. Shreds of cloth were all that was left of Remy's stolen pants. Only when Adam rolled over to a crouch and look over at Remy did he realise that his older brother was coughing. 

"Are you okay?" Adam asked but he couldn't hear his own voice. He shook his head; the ringing softened. "Are you okay?" he asked again. Then, more practically: "Are you sober?"

Remy, splayed on his side, could only dip his chin before falling into another fit of hacking. With a pained grunt, Adam got to his hands and knees, pieces of his uniform falling off his back. The explosion had blown him and Remy through the hallway. Bodies and furniture in various states of carbonisation surrounded them.

"Scott and Alex." Remy finally managed to gasp out. "Still in there."

"Hang on. Can you breathe okay?"

Remy nodded. "Sober. Breathing. Go, go."

"See, I can't believe you when you're not so much ordering me as you are coughing up a hairball."

Remy grabbed his arm and yanked him to eye level. "Go. And put on... clothes."

Adam darted a look down his bare navel. "You too."

Using a miraculously whole wall for support, Adam dragged himself to his feet. Not only were his clothes burned off but his boots were gone, too; he winced as he poked a melted chunk of rubber stuck to the bottom of his foot. That was going to hurt. Limping through the carnage, he tried to locate the OR but there was too much damage. Smoke still lingered thick, making his eyes water and keeping his field of view to two feet maximum. Ash blackened the halls on one side; maybe that would help him track down ground zero.

He ignored all skeleton-shaped charcoal poking out of the wreckage.

As he went further, the smoke grew so dark that he didn't find Alex so much as trip over him.

"Oof!" Adam held onto Alex's back to keep upright.

His brother barely acknowledged him. Cold sweat covered his back but he felt hot to the touch.

"Alex?" Crouching down, Adam tugged at Alex's shoulder. "Hey, dude. Snap out of it."

Alex just shivered.

"Hey, Alex. Alex?" Adam pulled his arm back and punched his brother in the jaw.

"_Fucking_ ow!" Alex roared, unrolling from his foetal position. "What was that for?"

"You were all catatonic," said Adam. "I had to do something."

"Okay, you've _got_ to stop using big words 'cause it's freaking me right out. You don't use big words. That's fucked." He scanned the area. "Where's everyone else?"

"I left Remy back there. You were closest to Scott when everything blew up."

"What exactly blew up?"

Adam tilted his to one side. "You did."

Alex took that news reasonably well. "Dude. Okay, well you go grab Remy. I'll look for Scott. Let's meet here and decide what to do from there."

"We should stick together," said Adam. "At least Remy's conscious; you might need help with Scott. He kind of had his insides out before the explosion."

Wrinkling his nose, Alex shoved him lightly. "Could you not put it that way?"

"I joke because the alternative is peeing my pants."

"You're not wearing pants."

"Then I guess that means peeing on you since you're the one I'm looking at right now."

They stumbled through more debris before Alex spotted the operating table turned on its side. Scott's unmistakable feet-- narrow with wide, splayed toes-- stuck out from underneath it. Between him and them were chunks of cement and steaming metal.

"Please don't be dead," Adam murmured as they carefully prised as much of the wreckage as they could.

"He's not dead," said Alex.

"If you say anything about visualising again, I swear to God, I will beat you."

"If you both don't... shut up, I'll beat... you all," came Scott's voice from under the table, jagged and faint but still unbelievably comforting.

They got that table out of there in record time. Scott had his eyes clenched shut, his arms wrapped protectively around his middle. "What exploded?"

"I did," said Alex.

"Welcome to the ranks of the weird, Alexander Summers." Alex snorted back a laugh. "I thought... I heard Adam. Is he okay?"

"Am I okay?" Adam choked back a hysterical chuckle. "You have a hole in your stomach and you're asking if _I'm_ okay"

"Yes. Are you okay?"

Adam's fists clenched. "I'm fine, Scott. I'm fine."

"It's not right that you're awake right now," said Alex. He pinched Scott's toes. "Can you feel this?"

"Yes. Ouch," Scott said. "Help me up. Where's Remy."

"No way in hell you're getting up," said Adam. "Or have you forgotten that Essex was jibbling about your insides scant minutes ago?"

Scott's forehead wrinkled. "'Scant minutes ago?' Alex, are you sure he's not a clone?"

"I'm thinking it's that or they tortured him by making him watch endless episodes of _Gilmore Girls_." Bracing an arm around Scott's back, he helped him sit.

Scott grimaced, breathing heavily through his nose. "Monsters. Is there nothing they won't stoop to?"

"I hate you both so very, very much," said Adam.

"We really shouldn't be moving you," Alex said. "I don't know what kind of damage the explosion put on your spine and moving you is only going to increase the bleeding."

"We don't have much choice," said Scott. "Just pack it with as many bandages as we can find and let's get out of here before the roof caves in. Are you sure Remy's all right?"

"He was breathing and coherent," said Adam. "I didn't check him for injuries but he didn't move around much."

Between himself and Alex, they used a two-hand seat carry to move Scott through the debris. The smoke had thinned considerably, a blessing considering Scott's weight and their own weariness. The walk back to Remy didn't feel as long. If only Scott wasn't leaving a line of blood behind them. If only Remy actually been there when they arrived.

"Oh fuck." Adam gulped.

"Are you _sure_ this is the place?" asked Scott.

"You know I never get lost," said Adam. "I'm sure I left him here. Remy! Remy, get your ass back here! Remy!"

From a few yards to the east came Remy's voice. "Shush, pup. I can hear fine now." He limped into view, hugging his right arm to his chest. Clothes and boots hung from the crook of left arm. "Was getting bored waiting for you dopes. Figured I'd get us a few things." He straightened his uninjured arm, dropping the clothes on the floor. His expression twisted as his injured limb lost its support.

"What's wrong?" asked Scott, hearing his quick, pain inhalation.

"Broke my arm bad," said Remy. "I'd show you where the bone's sticking out but I'm afraid I'd crap my pants."

"You're not wearing pants," Alex said. Then he cocked his head to one side. "Wow, that was déja vu all over again."

"If I think about it, I'd guess my leg's broken too but I don't want to dwell on the negatives. Pants for everyone, shoes so we don't get cut. Sorry, Adam, you can't cover your skinny chest with anything."

With careful manoeuvring, Alex and Adam set Scott back on the floor. They dressed quickly, helping Remy with his clothing when it was obvious he couldn't without hurting himself. For once there was no teasing.

"We need blankets and more stuff to bandage Scott with," said Alex as he tied his shoelaces. "We have lots of stuff we can use as handholds for a stretcher but no cloth."

"That way is less damaged," Remy said, pointing behind him. "But the alarm's working, too. I heard it coming from far away. They'll be coming that way soon to see the damage." He turned to Adam. "You know a good way to get out?"

Adam pointed up to the hole thirty feet above them.

"I should stop expecting this to be easy."

The alarms rang closer.

"How are we going to deal with that?" Adam asked.

Scott started to get up, a hand pressed to his temple. "I can feel my blasts coming back. Maybe I can--"

"Let me take care of it," said Remy.

"How?"

Remy looked around. "Grab stuff. Rocks, wood, metal, anything. I charge 'em; you all toss 'em."

"It's a plan," said Scott

Scott held out a hand. "Do _you_ have enough energy to charge things?"

"Sure," said Remy blithely.

"You lie like a rug."

"I got more energy than you," Remy said. "Meantime, the troops are coming so we don't got any choices left, do we?"

"Threats about beatings. Snarking. Vulgar insults. I really, really feel like I'm home," Adam declared. "It's touching. I might cry."


	62. Sanctuary

**Sanctuary**

Reality faded in and out of Scott's consciousness, a blessing really. At best, the surgical cut in his abdomen was a dull roar of pain; at worst, it felt like someone was poking at his insides with white-hot tongs. He'd have to ask the boys later if that was an accurate description of what happened. Throbbingly lucid at the moment, he concentrated on what they'd need to survive. 

"Crutches for Remy," he said, "Sling his arm to his chest."

"We're trying to find some," said Alex.

"Remy, blueprints." Scott took a breath then took a second to regret it. "Barracks and laundry chutes, right?"

"Damn. You're right." Remy turned to Adam. "Which floor are we on?"

"The second," Adam answered immediately. "First are the vats, second are the tubes and ORs, third are the cells and pens, fourth are barracks."

"There has to be cloth somewhere around here," said Alex. "Scrubs, lockers, something."

"Near ORs," Scott said. "How many are there?"

"Two," Remy said. "Two rooms that could be ORs according to the blueprints."

"It wasn't anywhere near here," said Alex.

"Even better. That means it's probably undamaged. Let's go."

"Remy, your leg..." But Scott faded out again, those hot tongs squeezing at his guts past endurance.

When he came to again, he felt the familiar tickle of optic blasts behind his eyes. He wasn't moving and lay horizontally. Smoke still stung his nostrils but not heavily. Gunfire and shouts came in the direction of his feet, probably twenty feet away but he couldn't be sure. Scott reached out to one side to get a feel of the terrain.

"You awake, Scotty?" Remy's voice came from two feet above, three o' clock.

"Yeah. Sit-rep?"

"Six armed guards. Baseline, not mutants. Alex and Adam are clearing the path." He chuckled. "Not bad for a couple of kids, huh?"

Scott scrounged up a smile. "Us geezers just need... our second wind."

"Speak for yourself. I'm enjoying my break. Pun intended."

"Bad one."

"No such thing as a good pun." Remy got back to the impromptu debriefing. "The OR's just past the guards. Think the debris's giving the reinforcements a hard time."

"Alex's mutation?"

"Hasn't come back yet. You know how it is when it first catalyses. He's still crap at hitting his targets, though. The boy needs glasses but he won't admit it."

"Can't have two four-eyed... nerds in the family. Adam?"

"As far as I can tell, he burns people."

"Useful."

"It'd be more useful if he could do it to inanimate objects. It's the opposite of me." Remy blew air out between his teeth. "The reinforcements are here."

"Where?"

"Between us and the boys. They're holding them off for now but-- crap, I think Alex just ran out of ammo."

Scott wedged his elbow against the wall but he just didn't have any upper body strength. "Sit me up."

"No fucking chance in hell."

"I can do more damage than you in the same amount of time."

"Only when you don't have a gaping hole in your stomach."

"While we're arguing, Adam and Alex are getting their asses kicked."

Remy swore. "Fine. If you pass out, I'm going to-- do something. It'll be bad. You'll scream like a baby." Throughout the threat, he propped Scott up using his own torso as a lever. He positioned Scott's head. "Okay. Now."

Scott opened his eyes and didn't hold back. It felt like his whole body was being wrung out through his skull. He stayed awake long enough to see Alex and Adam flatten on the floor away from his blast. He passed out again to the sound of Remy cursing a blue streak.

* * *

Moving through the jungle with Scott in a stretcher and Remy on a crutch was little better than standing still. Alex and Adam were also burdened with a bunch of stuff from the compound-- a bucket, bandages and a couple pints of water, among others. Remy hoped their luck held and the damage would keep everyone busy for a few hours. His projectiles cleared a lot of room and once they got outside, Alex chucked a few of them around the village to increase confusion. Most of the frantic mob didn't wear uniforms. Hopefully most of the troops had been caught in Alex's initial blast. 

"Where can we go?" asked Alex once they were far away enough from the compound.

"Caves," Remy said. "The mountains 'round here are supposed to be riddled with them."

"That was my plan, too," said Adam.

"They better be at a ground level," Alex said with a grunt.

The greenery grew thicker the further they trudged into the jungle, tree roots and the spongy forest floor mucking the way. Over-sized leaves slapped at their faces, thick ropes of branches or vines or a combination of both clogging the space between the foliage. It took half an hour to walk a quarter mile because of all the side-stepping. Sometime in there, Scott woke up and they had to administer a purloined pain pill. Surprisingly, Remy didn't tire out as quickly as he thought he would. He was too wired.

They reached the karstic limestone formations where the commotion from the compound softened to a murmur.

"Let's go farther in," said Alex. "We'll be harder to find that way."

"Make sure we're not so deep the commes can't receive," Remy said. "This ain't the way I'm going to die."

"No one's dying," said Scott curtly. The effort made him cough, jarring the bandages over his stomach.

Alex tried to glare back at Remy but the effort of holding Scott's stretcher up prevented it. "Ignore Remy; he's always Mr. Sunshine, remember?"

Genosha's limestone mountains were pretty damn amazing. Any other time, Remy was sure Alex would start going on and on about why there were around and what they were made of and whether they were edible or whatever. But Alex's jaws were firmly gritted, waves of heat coming off him like whatever he exploded out had a slow leak.

"Alex, I'm frickin' tired," said Adam. "Let's stop at the next cave."

"Not yet," said Alex.

Adam and Remy shared a look. "Scott needs to stay still for a while," said Remy. "And we should settle in before it gets too dark to do all that survivalist shit. Water, fire, look for grub."

They arrived at the perfect cave a couple minutes later. Adam went in to scout it out and make sure it had enough room before they pulled Scott in. Remy winced as he bent under the lip of the cave. Now that they stopped walking, his leg and arm throbbed. Clumsily, he sat down and dragged himself the rest of the way in. When he lifted his hand to wipe sweat from his face, it shook.

He shivered. It was hot as hell and humid but he shivered. All he could feel was that gel around him and that... sick, twisted vacuum-cleaner on his... Remy gagged. Oh Christ. Oh, Jesus Fucking Christ, he remembered his old room in his mom's house. The smell of the sheets was just like the smell inside that mask.

"Scott's out again," Adam's voice bled into the periphery of his consciousness. Remy concentrated on the present-day conversation with all his might.

"Wake him up every hour," Alex said.

"I thought that was for concussions."

Alex shrugged, the dwindling light turning his form into a silhouette. "I don't know. It seems like a good idea. How're you doing, Remy?"

"I'll do."

"For real, man. If you pass out, I'm going to be real pissed."

Silence from Remy. "The arm hurts," he finally said. "But I'll do. If it changes, I'll let you know."

"What about you?" Adam asked Alex. "Do you feel... explodey?"

Alex weighed himself. "I don't think so. There's no build up in my gut. I think we're safe."

"Maybe you should try to release energy once in a while," said Remy. "Remember when I was younger? I had to charge things every hour to siphon off the energy."

"You could do it for the fire," suggested Adam.

"We need the fire for Scott anyway," Alex said.

"I'll find some firewood."

"Stay close," Remy said.

"I didn't finally rescue myself only to get captured again," said Adam, his tone deliberately light.

While Adam scouted, there was nothing left to distract him. Remy decided to tutor Alex in the fine art of energy-based powers.

"Remember everything that happened to that point," he said. "How your whole body felt."

"I'm trying," said Alex. He bit his tongue and stared holes into the floor.

"Do you feel anything?" asked Remy.

"Besides hot? No. Isn't there a muscle I should flex or something?"

"Maybe. Depends on the person."

Adam re-entered with armfuls of branches and twigs. "I feel mine behind my eyes," he said. He dropped his find close to the back of the cave but gathered the kindling near the mouth.

"Mine's in the fingertips," Remy said. He rubbed his thumb across his lower lip. "But I don't really flex anything. I just know there's stuff there and if I imagine them moving quickly, it happens."

"Yeah, me too. There's one guy who's made of tar. He said his power was all flexing."

"This is frickin' hard," said Alex.

"Think of it as learning to use a sense," said Remy.

"New sense. Right."

Ten minutes later, sunlight barely penetrated the forests and Alex still couldn't light a blade of grass.

"We gotta get that fire," Remy said.

"It's too hot," said Adam. "Do we really need one?"

Alex bent over Scott, feeling for a fever. "It's not for the heat, it's for the animals. There might be more than lemurs around here."

"Great." Remy sighed and rubbed his chest. "Mosquitoes, snakes and other carnivores on top of the humans trying to shoot us." He coughed, almost recovered then went into a coughing fit serious enough to pull Alex from Scott's side. "I'm fine," he said then promptly belied himself by wheezing.

"I should've tried to find some more medicine," said Adam, fitfully arranging and rearranging the tinder for their fire.

Remy shook his head, shoulders jerking with the force of his coughs His stupid fucking lungs. Times like these he wished he didn't love his cigarettes so much. "Would've... gotten caught."

"Maybe not."

"Too late to do anything about it," Alex said. "We only have to wait until the other X-Men get here. As long as you don't strain yourself, Remy, you'll hold out, right?"

"Oh yeah. Air... highly over-rate-- over-rated." Slamming his fist on the ground, Remy straightened, trying to suck in more air but his lungs spasmed again. "Don't!" he barked when Alex bent over him. "Just... I don't want to be touched right now, okay?"

"Fuck that bullshit Remy, I just--"

"No, I get it," said Adam. "Just back off for a while, okay, Alex?"

Alex swivelled his head between the two of them. "What?"

Remy closed his eyes and shook his head, not wanting to answer. Adam answered for him anyway.

"The collector," he said.

"The what?" Alex's tone clearly showed that he was fresh out of understanding at the moment.

"Leave it alone," Remy said, the words barely making it through his chattering teeth.

"I don't want to leave it, Remy, you're shivering. You could have a fever from an infection." Alex reached over again.

Remy swatted him away. "Alex, I fucking mean it! Don't touch me!" Shouting tightened his bronchioles; he coughed again.

Reedy, nearly a whisper, Adam spoke. "Inside the tubes is this machine. It... it collects your... y'know, genetic material. Sperm."

Alex was thankfully silent.

"It doesn't do it surgically, it sort of... it has this tube and... it makes you feel like, like you _like_ what it's doing even though it's--"

"Shut. Up. Adam," Remy growled.

For several minutes, the only sound in the cave was breathing.

Then: "We should really get a fire started," said Alex.

Remy held his hand out. "I can do it," he said. "Give me something to charge."

Adam placed several twigs in his hand. Wincing, Remy called the energy in the molecules of the twigs. The first sparks _hurt_ this time, shooting up his arm and into the side of his head like the beginnings of a migraine. Closing his eyes, he urged them faster and faster until the glow bled through his eyelids. Even after someone snatched the make-shift match away, Remy kept his eyes closed. He needed all his energy not to remember.

* * *

Scott hurt. Not just his stomach although that hurt like nothing he'd ever experienced before or ever hoped to experience again. His head hurt trying to think of a way to get them out of here. His eyes hurt from containing his optic blasts. His heart hurt from... 

"This sucks," said Adam.

"Understatement of the century, dude," Alex said.

"The only way it could be worse is--"

"Don't tempt Fate. Just shut up right now."

Scott had to distract himself. "Adam."

"Yeah?"

"Essex said... uniform collar has suppression collar?"

"Yeah. It was on when we were in lock-down." He heard Adam move closer. "The rest of the time, it was sort of half-on."

"What side-effects?"

"Side-effects?" Adam's puzzlement was obvious. "What kind of side-effects?"

"We found a collar... did some tests. One of the student had coma... she wore for eight hours."

"Whoa. I haven't heard anything like that happen," said Adam. "But Gorgeous George mentioned that the older versions were clunkier. Maybe you guys got one of those."

"Talk to Hank and Forge at school. Those could be helpful..." Scott ran out of breath. He adjusted his breathing in hopes of easing the pressure of the movement on his wound.

From his side of the cave, Remy let out a soft, impatient growl. "Scotty, we're in a cave waiting to get shot at; do you have to bring up Rogue now?"

Scott frowned. "You brought it up but if you want... we were... at 'irresponsible' and... 'violation of trust.'"

"While you're in lecture mode, grab a look at Iceman and Jubilee and give 'em a little something about sleeping around during missions. He ain't even smart enough to realise how fucking precious she is. Didn't even penetrate his tiny little wiener of a brain. She's one of the most talented, most powerful, most beautiful-- and he threw that away for a fucking fling."

"Not remotely viable... justification. They're trainees. Held as hostage, thrown into warzones. Reaching out to each other's understandable."

"Don't mean Rogue was just emotionally expendable." Remy snorted.

"Sex therapy. How... magnanimous," said Scott, his tone even drier than usual.

"Remy dated one of Scott's students?" When Alex maintained a telling silence, Adam whistled. "Did you run out of grown-ups in the state to sleep with?"

Remy didn't seem to have the energy to let out a believable "Shut up, Adam."

"Is she at least as old as me?"

"You got no right to get pissed off," Remy told Scott. "While we're throwing accusations around, let's talk about you and Jean, who you met when you were seventeen and she was twenty-four."

Scott gripped the blanket, tamping down the urge to shout. He _knew_ Remy would bring that up. "That's different."

"Of course it is. They're rich enough to be allowed to do any damn thing."

"No dating until... I was twenty," Scott said through gritted teeth. "_After_ we'd known each other three years. And was never... my teacher."

"Rogue ain't my student."

"You _weren't_ mentoring for three months?"

Huffing, Alex scooted away to the lip of the cave by the sound of it, tugging a frantically whispering Adam with him. "That's exactly why I refuse to fall in love," he said. "Do you not see a pattern? Summers' aren't genetically alcoholics; we're genetically love-a-holics. We obsess about it. And when it's gone, it's like we OD on it. Look what happened to Dad after Mom died."

"Not true," Scott began, but Remy interrupted.

"Oh really? That wasn't a mickey of Jack Daniels I found in your room?"

Alex shifted. "You drink?"

"I never drink," said Scott. "Just look. When did I give you permission... to look in my room, Remy?"

"You're changing the subject," Adam pointed out.

Scott sighed. His body protested.

"Rogue's my partner," Remy bit out.

"Dude, I don't think you're supposed to sleep with your partners," said Alex.

"You _really_ slept with her? Gross, Remy!" said Adam

"Stay out of it!" Scott barked.

"You wouldn't know nothing 'bout partners," Remy said, "All you ever do is order everyone around then run back to Daddy Warbucks and Warren the WonderChicken the second you carve your commandments on the wall."

The boys' voices faded in and out; Scott was going to lose consciousness soon. "I entrusted her care to you, defended your training. Mistakenly believed... you had sense of accountability."

"Big words coming from a guy who barely visits his own family," Remy said.

"When was... last time I was around and you wanted me there?" There was no answer. Heat stung the back of Scott's eyes. "I try to help, I'm a controlling asshole. I give space, I'm negligent. You boys... make up your minds."

"Cry me a fucking river."

"Stick it up... your fucking ass."

"Whoa," Adam whispered in harmony with Alex's low whistle.

That wasn't something he wanted the boys to hear. Scott reigned his temper in. "Alex, talk with team... before they left?"

"Yeah," said Alex, his tone carefully neutral. "I told you about it on the way here, remember?"

No, he didn't. Crap. "How long since start-op?"

"Five hours, twenty-seven minutes if the clock on this commelink isn't broken."

"Damage?"

Scott heard him shrug. "Nothing specific. Gav was hurt bad though."

Adam's breathing caught but he didn't say anything.

"Warren, too. He was making a lot of noise in the background."

"What kind?" Scott had to ask.

"Uh, screaming type noise."

Remy chuckled acridly. "Damn and I'm not there to see it."

"Lay off, Remy," Scott said. "So tired of you, Warren fighting. Been at it ten years."

Sniggering floated in from Adam's corner. "You know what they say about people who fight constantly. They secretly want each other. Ow! How do you even aim in the complete dark?"

"Bit of infrared vision," Remy said. "I don't like Worthington 'cause he thinks he's better than everyone."

"Explains it," said Scott. "You think the same."

"I ain't anything like Worthington!"

"Both like the ladies," said Alex.

"Both have a lot of money." Adam added.

"Obviously, both use a lot of hair stuff."

"And have nice sports cars."

"And fight over Scott."

"Enough, everyone," said Scott. "How long since... contact X-Men?"

"Forty minutes," Alex replied. He tipped the water bottle into Scott's mouth but swallowing, unsurprisingly, also hurt.

"How'd you...get here anyway?" Scott asked him.

"I snuck into the jet," he said. "I knew you'd need me to save your ass again."

Scott cracked a smiled at that. Instead he patted Alex's arm. "Yeah. Big damn hero. Commelink batteries?"

"One bar."

"Good job. Looks like you never... needed me after all." His voice cracked. Stupid injury.

"Look out, guys. He's becoming emo like Adam," said Remy.

"Remy, that's so not--" Adam stopped himself to address Scott instead. "Scott, you're like oxygen. You need it so much you don't even think about it."

Scott couldn't form a reply.

* * *

_Sorry this was so late in the day. Classes started today and I had to get up at a ridiculous hour to beat traffic and get a parking spot that wasn't in the next city. Onto the un-signed replies!_

_**Black Mirror: **I'm glad you think so. Those are my two main aims in terms of writing._

_**lovestoread**: Thanks muchly!_

_**4Rogue: **Well, when they were kids, before Scott came to live at the mansion full-time he was there for them all the time. A lot of the Interludes show how Scott being the Big Brother/Father role. He may have been dry and sarcastic about it but really, what Summers actually says what he feels? ;) Remy resents the X-Men specifically because he feels like Scott dump his biological family for his adopted one.  
_

_**naemis:** Hee! Thanks; they can't wait to get out of the mess either._


	63. In a Home Burning

**In a Home Burning**

Adam liked camping out as a kid like all boys did. Who wouldn't love an excuse to get dirty? From now on, he promised he was only going to the best hotels. Four stars or _nothing_. Never again would drinking from a cracked bucket or eating under-ripe fruit be any sort of thrill. 

The waiting dragged into forever. The fire they'd been so proud off sent too much smoke into the cave. Putting it outside could call attention so they just put it out. Adam alternated between wall-climbing boredom and pee-inducing paranoia. Scott dozed, his sleep fitful and his consciousness even more so. Alex kept swearing to himself as he crawled from Scott to Remy and back. To top it all off, Adam was _starving_.

"When we get back home, I'm going to eat a dozen burgers, five large fries, two milkshakes and a pie," he said.

Remy groaned. "Don't start. I got an inch-thick T-bone in the freezer waiting for me. Mix that up with Mrs. Rasputin's garlic and rosemary mashed potatoes, grilled veg, foie gras on a pile of steamed spinach and a bottle of cab sauv to wash it all down."

"I'm going to live in a Mexican restaurant for a week and eat enchiladas until I puke," said Alex.

"How much longer until the X-Men get here?" Adam asked.

Alex shrugged. "We're not due to try again for another fourteen minutes."

"Maybe it can't transmit from here."

"It transmits. It has bars and static. It transmits."

Adam crossed his arms. "You think you're bad-ass, don't you?"

"I know I'm bad-ass, infant."

"You wouldn't've really cut Vertigo's throat, would you?"

A broken chuckle came from the back of Alex's throat. "She had green hair. Like Lorna." He sighed. "Honestly, I was pissed off but I don't think I would have--" He stopped again. "Scratch that. I was so fucking scared I think I might have actually done it if she didn't talk." Tremors shook his last few words. "How do you do it, Remy? How do you and Scott go out and fight people like that?"

"So much for bad-ass," said Remy.

"Fuck off." Alex sighed again. "I've never met people who really couldn't hold back, y'know? I could tell by the way Vertigo looked at me that she really didn't care about hurting me. Or anyone. I think she even liked it."

"She did," Adam said softly.

"It made me wonder..." Alex's voice faded off for a few seconds. He was breaking a twig, the rhythmic snapping felt like a whip crack. "I act all tough but I was really lost in there, guys. If my mutation hadn't catalyzed at that exact moment, we would've all been dead. All because I thought I was bad-ass enough to rescue everyone."

"But it did catalyze," said Remy. "You were stupid, yeah, but you've always had the greatest luck with your stupidity."

"Gee, thanks."

"I never had to rescue you the way I did Scott and Adam."

From the back of the cave, Scott stirred, hissing presumably as the painkillers slowly lost their effectiveness. They'd only had four left from what they found in the wreckage. "Boys?"

Alex scurried to his side. "Still all present and accounted for."

"Adam. How--" Scott grimaced, trying not to touch his stomach.

"I'm good," Adam said, pushing all tremors from his voice. "Looking better than you, even."

"That ain't too difficult," said Remy. His sarcasm sounded forced.

Scott's lips twisted up in a wry grin, or at least an attempt at it. "Remy's fine."

"Still sexy," was the flippant confirmation.

"Don't make me laugh," Scott said. "It tickles... when I laugh."

"Would it be crass if I made a joke about spilling your guts laughing?" asked Alex.

"Indubitably," said Adam.

"Will you stop it with the big words?"

Adam stuck his middle finger out, not caring that no one could see.

"Sit-rep?" Scott asked, his head turned towards Remy but it was Alex who updated him.

Adam half-crawled to Remy and sat down beside him. "How're you doing?"

"I'm fine," Remy said, aggrieved.

"Feeling flip-out-y?"

"It was just a very minor flip out."

"Not a gaping wound?" Adam ended for him.

The upturned of Remy's mouth could almost be a smile. "No. Not that. You?"

"No gaping wounds either."

"You keep messing with Alex, that might change."

"Nah. I can kick butt now. I have a codename and everything. Plus my uniform's nicer than yours."

"Your uniform was all white. All that means is that your boss doesn't mind you becoming targets." He almost reached for Adam's arm but rested his hand on his lap instead. "You get bored waiting for us to rescue you?"

"Totally. No cable. I have no idea what's going on with _The 70's Show_."

"It's been cancelled."

"_What_?" Adam smacked his head back against the cave wall. "Dammit, I knew something horrible was going to happen while I was gone."

Twisting the knife a little deeper, Remy added. "Also, _Batman Begins_ rocked harder than a prom king in the Playboy Mansion."

Adam whimpered. "The Batmobile?"

"V8 engine, Hoosier front racing tires, two pairs of Interco four-by-four mud tires in the back and Baja racing truck suspension. Looked like a cross between a Hummer and a Lamborghini with a jet-engine strapped to its ass."

"My life is officially not worth living."

Alex interrupted the conversation by shoving a water bottle at them "Two mouthfuls for Remy, one for Adam. Keep it in your mouth as long as possible. If you spill any, I'll beat you."

"Sure you will, Duke Nukem," said Remy, taking the bottle. "You only giving Adam one 'cause he's so puny?"

"'Cause I'm not hurt," Adam corrected. "Don't worry your little gangster self, Remy; we can still protect you on one mouthful of water each."

"Yeah, didn't you hear?" Some trick of the light outlined Alex's grin. "Our baby brother is X-treme."

"Extremely what?" asked Scott.

"His codename. It's X-treme."

In the silence, Adam realised that he was waiting for their reaction to the name. He might have even been nervous.

"You actually chose 'X-treme' as a codename?" Laughter coloured Remy's voice.

"Yeah," Adam said petulantly. "What's wrong with X-treme? It's better than Gambit. That's like a checkers move or something, isn't it? What does that have to do with stealing things? I bet you just chose it because it sounded cool."

"At least it's not as gay as X-treme." Remy shook his head sadly. "C'mon, Adam, I thought I taught you better than that? Only pretty- fly- white- guys from Podunk, Suburbia pick codenames like X-treme."

Adam cocked his head to one side. "We totally come from Sunnyville, San Diego, remember?"

"Yeah, but we've got a real dysfunctional family," said Alex. "You can't be fly for a white guy if you've got legitimate issues."

"Scott, they're bugging me," Adam whined.

Scott automatically barked out a "Quit bugging Adam." Then he grabbed onto a passing thought. "Spelled with X or E?"

"An X."

Scott sighed. "Sorry, Adam, but... expected better."

Adam pounded the ground with a fist as his brothers burst into laughter. "I hate you all so much." He punched the ground again. Quietly, so that the laughter drowned the words, he said, "I _am_ gay."

"We've been saying that the past ten years!" Remy snorted. That set off another round of laughter.

"No, I mean I'm really gay."

His brothers howled.

Adam stood up. "I'm trying to come out of the closet here and you guys are being complete assholes!" he shouted. "I'm gay, you fuckmooks! I'm a fucking queer! I like cocks! I brake for butt sex!"

Blessed silence.

Then from Alex came, "You owe me twenty bucks, Scott."

Scott hummed thoughtfully. "Still don't know. Remy isn't gay?"

"You bet on my gayness?" Adam demanded. "What the hell kind of brothers are you?"

"Actually," said Scott, "bet on Remy's sexual orientation. Alex countered... with yours."

"You thought I was gay?" Affront coloured Remy's every word. "Fuck you, Scott."

"See? At least bisexual," said Scott. "Him, Warren, unresolved sexual tension. And, no straight man really... sleeps with that many women."

"Only 'cause you're too much of a dork to get them," said Remy. "I'm not gay, okay?"

"It's not an insult," said Scott.

"You _did_ start wearing pink before the term metrosexual hit the streets," Alex observed.

"It was Armani and purple."

"And you've got more hair stuff than the average teenage girl."

"You're both dead when we're out of this place." Remy flipped him the finger for emphasis. "Completely fucking dead."

"No fratricide until Scott pays up," said Alex.

"We're so off topic," Adam said, giving up on beating the cave.

"You're gay and Scott owes me," said Alex. "Other than that, what do you want, a party?"

"Alex," Scott said admonishingly.

"All I'm saying," said Alex, "is that it doesn't matter if Adam brings a girlfriend or a boyfriend to prom. Who he sleeps with does not negate the fact that he's a complete and utter brat who willingly joined a psycho-led bunch of mercs."

"Willingly? I'm not even going to get into what's been done to me since I got kidnapped." Adam turned his back despite the fact that no one would see the gesture. "You'd fight for him too if the alternative was permanently shitting down a tube."

"What, that didn't give you a thrill?"

"Remember what I told you again the sperm collector, Alex?" asked Adam much too politely. "It provides suction and stimulation for maximum ejaculatory response. Would that give you a thrill?"

"Going to die now," said Scott. "Mental image finished me off. Don't resuscitate; can't stand to live... after that description."

"Speaking of coming out of the closet," said Remy. "Everyone who thinks Worthington is gay for Scott, raise their hand."

"Me," chorused Adam and Alex with the former adding, "If he wasn't so in love with Scott, I'd be totally hot for him."

"Toldja so," Remy said smugly.

Scott let out a defeated sigh.

"It was the pictures that clinched it," said Alex. "Every time you remembered to send pictures home, Worthington always had his arm around you."

"Or he was glaring Red down when she had _her_ arm around you." Remy picked his teeth. "Betcha he jerks off into one of your uniforms."

"You think that's how they managed to slide into them so easily?" Adam rubbed at his chin. "A little Angel juice to ease the way?"

"All sick, sad. Hope I'm adopted," Scott said. "Please, for my health, change subject."

"Okay," said Alex. "Remy, dude, what was with the freak-out about me touching you earlier?"

Remy didn't answer immediately. Adam was about to change the subject again when he finally spoke.

"I remembered my mom's house," he said. "The house smelled like the mask."

He gulped audibly. Adam didn't want him to continue but at the same time, he did. Remy never talked about his mom, not to him.

"She had a client once. My mom was an 'escort'," Remy clarified. Alex and Scott didn't make any surprised noises so Adam figured it was for his sake. "An upscale prostitute, really. Her townhouse was... it was real nice actually. Lots of windows. Professionally decorated, even. She wore Chanel No.5." He laughed and it was bitter enough to crack rocks. "I hate that perfume."

"Remy, don't--" Scott began but once again, Remy cut him off.

"My mom had this client once. She was asleep, sleeping off booze or coke or whatever. I got hungry so I went to the kitchen and he was there."

Alex began to let out a slow, steady hiss of swear words.

"He didn't do nothing," Remy said. His words lost their edge, slurring into a drawl. "Nothing... nothing really... but I was... he was real tall. Big, muscled guy. Thought he was going to eat me." He snorted. "I froze, me. Man didn't like it so he took his hand off my pants and his tongue out of my mouth and told me to go back upstairs."

"How old were you?" asked Alex.

"Eight." He let out that not-laugh again. "I'd forgotten about it. Don't seem like something you'd forget, y'know, but I did until that stupid vacuum cleaner."

Adam sidled up close to Remy and, gingerly, laid his head on his shoulder. Remy stopped shaking.

* * *

The heat in Scott's body receded for a few seconds then, in a snap of light, came back three times as powerful. His throat felt scratchy-- he realised that he was screaming. Someone sat above him, holding his arms down while someone else sat on his legs. A third person-- maybe it was one of the original two-- forced his mouth open. 

"Swallow the pill, Scott, please, please, please swallow the pill." It was Adam. Adam was fine. He'd been rescued.

He was going to die. Scott almost laughed and to hell with how it tickled. All this time, effort and joking around and he was actually going to die. At least Adam was fine now. Adam was fine and so was Alex providing the two of them wouldn't kill each other. Then again, that's why he had Remy around.

"He's too tense," said Alex. "Fuck! I can't see what I'm doing-- Remy, charge something so we can see."

Reddish-orange light flared behind Scott's eyelids. Fingers shoved his jaw open. A dry tablet dropped on his tongue followed by water. Too much spilled down his cheeks.

"R-Remy," Scott gritted out after the pill went down.

"Right beside you, old man. You're such a fucking liar. You said you were doing okay."

"Was waiting for... zen-like state." He took a shallow breath. The pill was going down, it was going to his stomach, it was going to work soon. If he was going to go, he wanted to go with as little pain as possible. He didn't want the boys to have that as their last image of him. "Just... stay put."

"Not going anywhere."

"Do you need us to distract you?" asked Adam. "Back there, when I first went in, there was nothing to do but think about how much everything hurt."

"Distraction, good idea," said Remy. "How 'bout embarrassing Adam stories? There's a lot of those."

"I sang sometimes," Adam said, ignoring Remy. "Not out loud. I couldn't with the mouthpiece and all."

"Scott sings," Alex shared suddenly. "When we were little, when our mom was alive he got recruited into a boy's choir and everything. We had reams of videotapes of his performances."

Scott smiled. "Don't sing now."

"I bet you're just out of practice."

"With Scotty's taste in music, I'm not sure we want him singing," Remy said. "Don't know if anyone told you but Bruce Springsteen is no longer rock."

"Bruce Springsteen?" Adam blew a raspberry. "I was thinking Keith Urban."

"You are a freak," said Alex. "Who listens to country? Tool's a little too advanced; what about Smashing Pumkins? Pumpkins is eternal."

They were going to kill him with laughter. Scott held down his sniggers then changed his mind and let it out. "Queen," he blurted out. "Sing me Queen." Ha. Let's see what they do with that.

Nothing from the three of them for a while. "I'm not singing anything," Alex said. "What are we, a Disney special? Mad scientists, cave bonding and now singing?"

"Pain medication... fading..."

Someone hit someone else and in the ensuing shuffle a third someone began stomping out a one-three rhythm on the floor.

"Buddy, you're a boy, make a big noise, playin' in the street, gonna be a big man some day," came Remy's extremely flat tenor.

"Oh fuck this," said Alex with disgust but Adam joined in with a slightly better pitch.

"You got blood on your face, you big disgrace. Waving your banner all over the place." Together with a lot more enthusiasm than the situation warranted, Remy and Adam warbled, "We will, we will rock you!"

Letting out a truly appalled huff, Alex demanded, "Are you happy? They're singing. Badly. To the worst, most over-rated Queen song-- no, _the_ most over-rated song in history, period."

"We will, we will rock you!" Stomp, stomp, clap. Stomp, stomp, clap. "We will, we will rock you!"

Scott couldn't help it. He laughed. Deep and full from his torn belly, he laughed. Tears leaked from his eyes and he didn't know if it was as result of the singing, the wound or the situation in general but it really didn't matter because Alex was doing it now too, stomping and clapping and singing the same verse over and over again.

There were worse deaths than this.

Darkness bled into Scott's mind, more absolute than the cave's lack of light. He needed to find Remy. He had to talk to him. "Remy. Remy, you're in charge."

"I can't hear you." The singing stopped. He heard Remy shuffle over, breathing heavily through his nose. "What did you say?"

"You're in charge." Scott tried to enunciate every word. "You take care of them now."

"Scott, I can't--"

"You _can_." He reached out and somehow found Remy's hand. "You have."

Remy's breath brushed against his ear. Even then, his voice faded in and out. "Scott... awake, Scott..."

But he couldn't stay awake. The hurt was taking over again. There was even a bright light behind his eyelids. Oh hell. This was too funny. It was so sad it was funny.

* * *

This couldn't be happening, Alex thought with rapidly escalating panic. His brother couldn't be dying. Not Scott. He survived a car crash so deadly, the wreckage had to be literally scraped from the side of a cliff. He survived an uncontrollable mutation that was like storing two atomic bombs in your eyes. He was a freakin' superhero with a uniform and a cool jet and a codename! He couldn't die. 

"I killed him," Alex said.

Remy's face had taken on a cold blankness, his tone as remote as the time when he'd disciplined the Thieves on the jet. "No, you didn't. Someone start chest compressions. I'll do first shift of breathing."

"I should've waited like Storm said but I didn't and everything blew up before Milbury could sew him back together and now he's going to die. Oh my God, Scott's going to die."

"He's not going to die!" Remy said sharply. "Alex-- never mind, you're useless right now. Adam, chest compressions."

Using the light of a charged branch, Adam straddled Scott's body, marked off from the sternum and began pushing down on Scott's chest in short, hard intervals. Alex could do CPR, he knew CPR up and down and sideways but he couldn't move. Scott was going to die. He fucked up royally and because of it, Scott was going to die.

Alex shrank into himself. His chest burned.

"...twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty." Remy bent down and blew into Scott's mouth as soon as Adam's count off ended. After two hard breaths, he reared back and Adam counted off another set of chest compressions. "One, two, three, four..."

Outside, branches tore and boots stomped. "I found them!" a woman said. A spotlight lit up the interior of the cave. Oh shit. Scott was going to die and they were going to get caught anyway.

"Remy!" The woman ran in full tilt and almost threw herself at Remy only to skid to a stop when she saw the make-shift sling on his arm. "Oh, my god, Beast! We need you right now."

"Rogue?" Remy sounded dazed. "Rogue... Peaches, oh Christ... Scotty stopped breathing."

Adam was still counting off chest compressions. "...twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, Remy."

Hank bounded in, his fur almost black in the shadow of the spotlight. He strapped a CPR valve mask over Scott's face. His uniform didn't fit, Alex's brain supplied helpfully.

Gav walked in full X-Men togs. "Fury says the main compound is secure."

"Gav!" Adam tackled him. "You will not _believe_ what I had to do in there. You had a clone and there was Scalphunter and Gorgeous George-- why would you choose that for a codename?-- and Vertigo and he was an awful kisser--"

"You kissed Vertigo?"

"No, Cadre. Pay attention. And then--"

"We're measuring a great deal of radiation from this location," said an anonymous SHIELD agent just outside the cave.

Beast spoke into his commelink. "Beta-one, this is Chi-three. We need a full medical unit ASAP. Alex, what happened?"

Alex shook his head wildly. "I fucked up, Hank. I fucked up so bad."

"Yes, you did but not completely. Now tell me, what happened to Scott?"

But Alex couldn't answer. Remy took over, relating the events as he remembered. A couple SHIELD agents reached in to help, shouting to nearby section-mates. Bullets fired. Thunder roared and echoed through the mountains as lightning cracked the blackness in half.

"--open break," Remy said. "The leg's just cracked I think but it's swollen like--"

"--burnt to a total crisp except us," said Adam. "I don't know why--"

"Siblings aren't usually affected by each others' powers," said Rogue.

'Oh, right. But everything else was--"

"Where's my medical unit?" Beast yelled. "I need it ten minutes ago! I don't care if you have to drop it out of the Helicarrier just--"

"--alone, just worry about Scotty--"

Two SHIELD agents ran in, hooking Scott up to their equipment in a matter of seconds. "Looks like shock."

"He just lost half the blood in his body, of _course_ he's in shock," Hank snarled.

"Drips, now--"

Alex continued to stare at Scott and the CPR mask and the spotlight and the sweat was pouring from his face and this must be what it felt like for Remy to go into anaphylactic shock.

"Alex is going!" he heard Adam call out. He didn't even feel the ground come up to smack him.


	64. Elemental

**Elemental**

Hard to believe that only twenty-four hours had passed since the X-Men and SHIELD joined forces to get them out of that hellhole of an island. Freshly bathed-- oh, showers, sweet, sweet, heavenly showers!-- Alex struggled into his anti-radiation suit. Back in the cave, they all thought that he couldn't turn his power back on when in reality, it had been on all along. He'd been leaking radiation all over the place but couldn't concentrate it to one point. Xavier thought that was part of the reason why Scott didn't go septic right away; the heat from the plasma he'd been generating staved off most of the bacteria. 

To keep the radiation levels around him low, especially in the school, Xavier scrounged up the anti-radiation suit. Alex had no idea where the damn suit came from. Xavier had a lot of things in the school but somehow he doubted Surviving Chernobyl 101 was an acceptable high school course. Then again, this _was_ Charles Xavier. He probably had the damn thing lying around in the attic. There was nothing he could do about his head but Alex wore the suit, cloth boots and gloves under all his clothes. Good thing New York was going through a cold snap this autumn.

Properly attired, Alex popped into the kitchen for something to eat. There was a whole pot of coffee on the perc and a pasta-something baking in the oven. He loved this place so damn much. He loved the kitchen most of all with its industrial stove, double oven and over-sized fridge.

The kitchen's other occupants this afternoon were Adam, Gav, Jubilee, Piotr and, of course, Mrs. Rasputin who bustled around in uncharacteristic silence. She was probably trying to listen in on the conversation. Piotr had his right wrist in a tensor bandage which made his sandwich eating a lot clumsier. Gav sat beside Adam; the two held hands with casual familiarity.

"So if that General Fury guy was pissed off at the X-Men, how did you get him to throw his commandos in for the rescue?" Adam asked.

Alex hooked a chair and joined the table, also wanting to hear the conversation.

"It was mainly Bobby's doing," said Piotr. "I heard the professor, Storm and Beast arguing with Fury on tele-conference. Bobby went in, shut the door and thirty minutes later, Storm came out telling us we had SHIELD's full support."

"Don't look at me," said Jubilee when everyone did just that. "I have no idea what he said either. We were still trainees before we went AWOL; it's not like we had any kind of leverage. We totally couldn't've zoned into your tracking signal without their hardware though."

"How's he feeling now anyway?" asked Alex.

"Still a couple minor temperature issues but as long as he doesn't accidentally freeze all the plumbing again, we should be all right."

Piotr threw down his sandwich. "Thanks for reminding me. I have to work on that."

"And we gotta go back to the hospital and relieve Remy for Scott-watch," said Alex. "Soon as you're finished, kiddo."

"I totally understand why Remy hates hospitals," said Adam. "The image of Scott on that bed with all that wiring is tattooed inside my eyelids now."

"He's going to be fine," Jubilee blurted out. "He's Cyclops. He can't _not_ be fine."

* * *

After the seventeenth decade of the rosary, his prayers slipped out faster if not easier. The borrowed rosary slid between his thumb and index finger, the oils from his sweat eliciting perfume from the pressed-rose petal beads. Remy had the sense that God wanted his teeth to fall out before He answered the prayers of someone like him. 

Scott gone septic, said the doctors, not a surprise considering the circumstances. They found numerous, precise punctures all over his organs and minute cuts on some of his glands. He had one machine to help his failed lungs, one machine to feed him, one machine to give him blood, one to help his failed kidneys, one to kill all the bacteria in his system, and one to keep him asleep and unaware of it all. The amount of antibiotics they plugged into his system would have cured the whole of Medieval Europe from the bubonic plague. The hospital released Remy from his room last night after a hell of a lot of charming and pleading and on the condition that he stayed in Scott's room. Remy had no problem with that.

"Hey, Remy." Rogue tapped his shoulder. Remy quickly palmed the rosary; he couldn't quite admit to this type of desperation yet.

"Hey, Stripes."

She placed his little bentwood box on the Scott's bed then placed Remy's hands on top of it. Her gloves caught on the rough hairs on his arms. Reflexively, he leaned his head towards her, his forehead brushing the silk band spanning her shirt just under her breasts. She combed her gloved hands through his hair, making Remy keenly conscious of the last time he'd taken a proper shower. But when he would have pulled away, Rogue curled down and over him so that her hair curtained the rest of the hospital room away.

"Hey, Remy," she whispered.

Suddenly Remy couldn't breathe. It was like an allergy attack except this time, he also needed to throw up. He grabbed his closest grounding point: Rogue stood firm as he hooked his fingers through her belt loops and gulped air into lungs that refused to work properly. He mashed his face in her belly because paradoxically that made it easier to breathe. Someone in the room was gulping, making the most pathetic noises as they choked on air.

His knees smacked against linoleum but Remy barely registered it. He _needed_ so goddamned badly. This place was too stiff, too white, too sterile, too much of everything he hated but Scott was here and he just... Yanking on her jeans, he rubbed his face back and forth on her stomach until the friction burned his nose and chin. He... just... _needed_...

He was rocking; Rogue rocked him, her small, soft body somehow sheltering him from the stiff and white and sterile.

"He went back," Remy muttered into her ribs.

She shifted her cheek from the top of his head. "Hmm?"

"Scott. Went back to get me epinephrine. I was allergic to the tranqs, was choking, and he went back in to get me some goddamn epinephrine. That's why we got caught. That's how Essex got his hands on him. Fuck. _Fuck_!"

Rogue curled closer around him so that he could feel her breath on his cheek.

"I'm always such a shit to him. I don't even know why. I always..." He twisted his fingers through her hair.

"You love him," said Rogue.

Remy swallowed, saying nothing so she tipped his chin up to look into his eyes.

"You love him," she repeated.

"Of course." The silk of her shirt trapped the confession between the cloth and her ivory-smooth skin so that no one else could know he'd even spoken.

* * *

Within the hour, Alex and Adam were at the hospital. Adam become uncharacteristically quiet as soon as they entered the front doors a reaction that Alex understood all too well. He wished he had something he could say that would stop the suffocating terror that threatened to make him puke. All those machines-- 

As they reached Scott's room, Alex saw that Remy wasn't alone in there. He had his head buried in Rogue's stomach and he was--

Was he... crying?

Adam yanked Alex back into the common area before he could step into the room.

"Did you see that?" Alex asked. "Did you see Remy?"

"Yeah," said Adam. "Let's give them a few minutes. I hear the cafeteria's not bad. I'm starving."

"Unbelievable," said Alex, shaking his head. "After everything that just happened and all that... the cave... y'know... stuff..." He coughed. "After all of that, he doesn't crack. We all cracked but he doesn't until now? In front of her?"

"What does that tell you about her?"

Alex reared back. "First you use big words, now you're Yoda. Do we have to start beating you again to turn you back to normal?"

Smiling serenely, Adam said, "I'll explain everything when you're older."

Throwing one last glance over his shoulder, Alex let out a thoughtful sound. "Remy. In love. That's more Twilight Zone than anything else around here."

"Nothing's more Twilight Zone than your suit."

"How long will you tease me about the suit?" asked Alex.

"Forever," Adam said. "Even when you don't need it any more, I will take great joy in mocking you. Especially since I know what you have to do to take a leak."

Alex bared his teeth. "When I'm done with you, you're going to wish you stayed in that lab."

"You and what army, Rubber Boy?"

Alex dove for Adam who slammed his elbow into Alex's back. It took four security guards to separate them. They got kicked out of the hospital, of course. It was good to be home.

* * *

Scott awoke to his goggles' familiar wash of yellow-red. A snort from his left drew his attention. Scott turned to see Remy, his form folded in a seemingly impossible position in order to fit into a sorry excuse for a chair. How he could do that with a cast on both right limbs was beyond Scott's imagination. Remy had to be boneless, like they always assumed. Scott smiled, ignoring his chapped lips. 

"Psst."

Remy's eyes snapped open. "Scotty. Scott!" He leapt out of the chair. "Do you need anything? A nurse? Water? More drip? You should get more drip. Let me get a nurse."

"I'm fine."

A smiled wobbled onto Remy's lips. "Last time you said that, you almost got dead."

"I mean it this time."

"Good." He curled and straightened his fingers, a nervous reaction, Scott thought so he waited for him to speak. "I stole your car," Remy blurted out. "The model in your office that your mom got you. I stole it but it's just in my box. I have this box. Rogue's taking care of it and I always put them back after a while but I just like to keep it there sometimes. Before that, it was the tie you wore for the prom and one of your books."

"Which one?"

"Uh, Lord of the Rings."

Scott closed his eyes. "At least you finally willingly read a fiction book."

The bed creaked as Remy leaned against it. "Only parts. And the ending."

"You should read it all. It's a good book." He grinned. "I was reading that when Dad brought you home."

"I know."

He quieted again so Scott opened his eyes. He didn't have the strength to reach up and grab Remy's shirt yet, so he settled for talking loudly. "Remember that first sort of birthday dinner you had with us when you ate so much you puked?"

"How could I forget."

"I was so mad at you," Scott confessed.

Hurt flashed through Remy's face. "It... it was a fucking lot of food that I never tried before and--"

"Let me finish. I was mad at you because I thought you were supposed to replace my mom. I didn't want her replaced; I wanted her back. I don't know where I got that stupid idea in the first place because I'm glad he brought you home." When Remy rolled his eyes, Scott said, "I mean it. I've never regretted having you around."

"Not even when I made out with your girlfriend in high school?"

"Painful, but no. Not even then." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you about Jean. It wasn't... It wasn't that I didn't think you'd care; I knew you would. That's the problem."

Remy's brows arched. Scott knew he understood but wanted him to elaborate. Fair enough.

"I couldn't let you guys see me like that. I was... God, I was wrecked and it was like... not exactly like Dad but there were times when... and I just couldn't let you boys..." Great, he'd lost coherence. "You're right, you know; I did screw you boys over. I messed up badly then and now."

Pointing a finger at Scott's nose, Remy said, "Shut the fuck up. You were ten or eleven and you were already taking care of me and Alex so don't you pull any of this 'I messed up' bullshit because it's not true. We wouldn't have survived past junior high without you. I'm the one who had to keep pushing it. I don't even know why." His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "You... Dad brought me home but he wasn't... I mean, you were really... fuck! This was easier in the cave when I didn't have to look you in the eye."

Smiling, Scott turned his hand palm up, hoping Remy would get the message. He'd never been one for hugging or touching, not as much as Remy but this situation warranted it. Remy slipped his hand into Scott's and squeezed.

"Hank used to compare us to the four elements: earth, fire, water and air," Scott said. "They're different from each other and sometimes their properties clash but they can work together and make... pretty damn near everything. But just one of them can't do it all. I know I need to buy a filter between my mouth and my brain but I'm never, _ever_ going to leave you boys by yourselves to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting world."

Remy took a shaky, calming breath. "You're going to make me have an allergic attack again."

"Of course I am. Summers' are allergic to outward shows of affection."

"Exactly."

"Except for sex."

"Except for sex. Verbal communication is terminal."

Remy's light-heartedness dropped away. "Don't even joke about that."

"Right. Sorry." A thought occurred to Scott, belatedly perhaps. "Speaking of sex, did you use a condom when you slept with Rogue?"

Remy slapped his face into his hand. "You're determined to give me a sex talk, aren't you?"

"Maybe." Then he changed his mind. "Promise me you'll take care of her."

"'Course I will, Scotty. Just like you take care of us."

His abdomen twinged; the painkillers were fading. Scott knew he should rest but Remy was here. They were talking instead of yelling. "When do you go back?" he asked.

Remy jumped off the bed. "Are you tired? Do you need me to go? I can go."

"No." Scott pressed Remy's hand on the mattress, not as firmly as he would have liked but enough to get the point across. "Talk to me. Tell me... Tell me what a Left is."

"You want me to talk about the Guilds," Remy said slowly. "Are you going to use it as blackmail?"

Frustrated, Scott said, "I want to know about _you_, you skinny little--"

"Hey! I was teasing." He heard Remy ease back down on the hospital chair from hell. "I tell you about the Guilds, you tell me about what the hell that Bavarian Hamster Incident is all about."

"Deal. You first."

"Hey, that's not fair! Guild hierarchy ain't as interesting as a Bavarian hamster."

Scott started to argue but, seeing the openness in Remy's grin, began the story. "Hank had this hamster that he kept in the breakfast nook..."

* * *

When Rogue picked Remy up from the hospital, he asked her to bring him around to the boathouse. The area was abandoned for the year. Remy limped down the leaf-strewn dock, grimacing at the clumsy thunk of his footbrace on the wooden boards. At the end, he sat down; Rogue mimicked the action a second later. 

"How're you feeling, Peaches?" he asked.

"I'm dealing," Rogue said. "I kind of feel like I got the flu but the healing factor should take care of that soon. It's just getting warmed up is all; that's why it took so long to kick in."

"You shouldn't've gone to Genosha. You just woke up--"

"Hey, my partner was in trouble. Wild horses couldn't've kept me away." She took his uninjured hand and sandwiched it between her own. "I'm sorry I scared you."

"You're sorry?" Remy kissed her gloved fingers. "Sweetheart, it wasn't your fault. If anything, it was mine. I shouldn't've let you stay the night with some experimental techie-toy around your neck. I definitely shouldn't've slept... um, not _slept_ just... made love with you that night."

Rogue placed a hand on her hip and cocked her to one side. "If that's your version of blowing me off after a one-night stand, you've got another think coming, Swamp Rat. I don't let just any guy cry all over me."

In reply, Remy patted the space between his legs. Contemplatively watching his expression, Rogue accepted the invitation but kept stiff instead of leaning back into his chest. Remy sighed. "I said not that night. I needed my partner for the job; she wasn't because I didn't have control."

"So, I'm your partner? That's it?"

Remy kept his face carefully blank. "Depends. You sleep with me to get back at Drake?"

"No!" She chewed her lip, eyes downcast and sighed. "Maybe sort of. But I wouldn't've slept with just anyone; I really liked you. _Like_ you."

Every organ in Remy's abdomen did a little flip.

"But Bobby was my boyfriend and he was gone and I thought..." Still not meeting his eyes, she turned the question around on him. "Did you sleep with me to annoy Mr. Summers?"

"No."

"Oh."

Remy fiddled with the outside seam of her pants. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing, Stripes. I don't know what you and me are. All I know is I need you beside me."

Finally, Rogue leaned back, stroking his thighs. Her hands travelled closer and closer between his legs. Not that he didn't appreciate it but... "Hold on. Not with... Scott's still..."

Rogue pulled away and inward, fiddling self-consciously with her gloves. "I'm sorry, I just... I thought I..."

Immediately, he pulled her back. "Peaches, I just recovered from seeing you up and about when I last left you in a coma. I feel like I traded Scott for you--"

"Which is bullshit," said Rogue.

Remy chuckled. "Sorry. I try to drown the emo in sex but I got this bum leg. So, what the hell are we gonna do with this, sweetheart?"

To his pleasure, her tension eased once again. "I don't know, Remy. I guess we'll have to see which way the wind blows."

He kissed the crown of her head then blew at some wispy brown and white strands that tickled his cheek.

* * *

Two and a half weeks after the rescue from Genosha, Scott returned to Xavier's School. The students and the staff pulled out all the stops for the welcome home party and Scott acted properly surprised when Storm rolled his wheelchair through the front doors and into a streamer-filled foyer. He'd've rather gone straight upstairs to sleep but he knew the kids needed to see him out of bed and interacting to assuage their fears. 

Even Warren hauled himself out of the medlab. Whatever drug the Genoshan guards stuck him reacted badly to his mutation; his wings wouldn't stop moulting and his bones were apparently thickening. He flew by plane to Muir Island Academy at the end of the week, where they had more equipment and personnel to deal with it. Gav and Bobby shook off the effects much quicker leaving Hank to hypothesise that the drug was likely geared towards energy-converting mutations not physical ones. Alex chatted with him about it; he was the only one who could follow Hank when he got into those topics.

In another two weeks, he graduated from wheelchair to cane thus putting an end to all the "Professor S" jokes. He and Remy had cane duels at odd times of the day, usually with groans of pain interspersed between laughter. Adam crawled into his room less often but Scott always heard when he bunked on the floor and kept an ear out for his nightmares. A few times, Adam woke _him_ up from his dreams; maybe the kid actually stayed over for his sake.

By Thanksgiving Day, the school was as normal as the school could be.

"Remy, kindly detach yourself from Rogue's hip and pass me a couple more garlic bulbs from the pantry," said Scott.

"We got enough garlic in there to ward off Dracula's second coming," said Remy. He stayed right where he was, on a barstool with his legs crossed around Rogue's waist watching him work. She was at least helping him make dinner. Her boysenberry pie cooled on a rack on the counter.

"Alex likes roasted garlic. I'm sure we're going to burn the first few tries so it's good to have spares."

"I'll get it, Mr. Summers." Rogue tried to extricate herself from Remy's embrace but just then, Bobby and Adam walked into the kitchen wielding plastic bags of groceries. As had become his habit when Bobby was in the room, Remy flaunted his relationship with Rogue. Leaning to press his body flush against hers, he nuzzled her scarf-covered neck, eliciting a giggle. It was immature and vindictive and pure Remy. Scott arched his eyebrow at him. Remy shrugged and backed off as soon as Bobby left.

"We wiped the bakery," said Adam. "There is officially no more pumpernickel bread in all of Salem. Remind me again why we're spoiling Alex stupid?"

"Because Alex's power spike has had him quarantined in the Danger Room for the past twenty days," said Scott.

"You have your boyfriend at least," Remy said. "Poor Alex just has digital pixels and his right hand. Don't know how he'd explain that to his surfer girl."

"He could wear the suit Forge made," said Adam.

"It's two inches thick and weighs twenty pounds without the helmet. Would _you_ want to be seen in it?"

"Point."

Scott slid a loaf of bread in the last box. "That's it. Let's go downstairs."

"Merry Christmas!" Adam called out as the Danger Room doors slid open.

"Bah, humbug," Alex said, not looking up from his reading. Today, he was in a bay with obvious striations in the cliff faces. A crisp wind blew into Scott's face. It was nice. Refreshing. "It's too early for Christmas. Take your cheer to the nearest mall, damn you."

"We come with food," said Remy. "I think we might even try to cook a turkey."

"As long as Scott doesn't cook it," said Adam.

"Hey, it's defrosted this time," Scott said. "And it was just that one time. No one gets the turkey done right the first time."

"I did," said Remy.

"You profited from my mistakes." Pitching his voice louder, he addressed the computer. "Close current program. Upload 002-001."

The cliffs, the ocean and the brilliantly green knolls dissolved into pixels which came together again as the formal dining area in Xavier's. It had been renovated into the rec room for a while now but the program brought back the long, stately table with matching carved chairs and crystal wall scones. Candelabra and flower arrangements crowded at the head of the table, closest to the kitchen.

"We better be eating real food," Alex said.

"The Danger Room can produce heat," said Scott. "The problem is going to be timing it properly." He disappeared into the kitchen muttering about hours per pound, leaving Alex defenceless against Remy and Adam.

"So, how do you masturbate?" asked Adam.

Alex flipped him the finger.

"No really. And you must really stink under that."

"Scott! Permission to kill little twerp on a holiday without repercussions!" Alex yelled to the kitchen door.

"Permission granted," Scott replied.

Remy side-stepped the pair doing their best to wrench each others' heads off. "Don't mind me. I'm just here for Rogue's pie. And the stuffing. Damn, Mrs. Rasputin makes a mean stuffing. And the yams. You'd think considering they gave us all the other food pre-cooked, they'd also cook our turkey."

"The professor said something about team-building and family-bonding." Scott stepped over Adam who sat on Alex's back, grinding his nose in the undoubtedly heirloom area rug.

"Eat carpet! Eat it!"

"Your skinny ass is digging into my kidneys."

"Admit defeat! Eat the goddamn carpet!"

"I can't eat anything through my helmet, you complete and utter donkey dick!"

Scott handed Remy a pile of plates and set to arranging the silverware himself.

"The professor wants us to bond by having a sleepover? Are we twelve?"

"At least fourteen," said Scott.

"We did all the bonding we need to. We bled all over each other; if that's not bonding nothing is."

"The professor frowns on therapeutic violence."

Howling in victory, Alex threw Adam over his head, slamming him on the table top. Remy rescued all four of the glasses from the floor; Scott caught the basket of dinner rolls.

"I can't imagine why," said Remy. He passed the yams across the table.

"How's your throwing arm?" asked Scott.

Wiggling the fingers on his undamaged left hand, Remy said, "Good as it's ever been. My jerk-off arm, though." Morosely, he patted the tensor bandage that remained around his wrist.

With a snort of laughter, Scott flicked three peas at Remy's face. He caught one in his mouth and two in his hand then spat the pea out of his mouth, cracking with charged energy. Scott zapped it with an optic blast.

"Scott," said Alex who had reversed his previous position and was now sitting on Adam. "Remind this infant that I'm not only bigger and badder but I'm a fucking walking nuclear warhead while he can't even muster up a sunburn until someone gets a paper cut."

"At least I can get some," Adam shot back. "You have to lie all alone and dream of Lorna while you grind your--"

"I am going to re-arrange your face. Next time Gav sleeps over, he's going to find your head blocking his way up your--"

"Scott!"

Scott put his hands on his hips. "Adam, you know very well that the school doesn't allow sexual congress in the dormitories."

Alex laughed maniacally while Adam, gaping with betrayal, wailed, "Scott!"

Remy lifted an eyebrow. "Sexual congress? Here I thought only your clothes were stuck in the fifties."

"That goes for you, too, Remy."

"When was the last time you caught me having sexual congress in the dormitories?"

"Not until she graduates."

Remy just grinned his "eat shit" grin.

The stove timer beeped, announcing the gravy's readiness. Remy detached Adam's fist from Alex's solar plexus while Scott checked the stuffing, the turkey and the boysenberry pie respectively.

"How're you doing with your powers?" Scott asked Alex.

He made a face. "Suckily. The professor hasn't found that mental off-switch because of all the energy zapping around my body. I never knew there could be a down side to being a psychic blackhole."

"Damn, should've gone to school here and taken advantage of that," said Remy.

Adam accepted a bowl of greens and scooped a generous pile out on his plate. "How come I'm not a psychic blackhole?"

"You're the runt," said Alex.

Adam eyed the cranberry sauce pointedly.

"If anyone throws anything that stains, they're cleaning the boys' bathroom with a toothbrush," said Scott.

His youngest brother shrugged. "What about that stuff Essex said about us being Omegas and having half a dozen powers?"

Remy caught Scott's eye and shook his head minutely. In response, Scott kept his expression straight. "I think he was blowing things out of his ass. None of you are _that_ special."

His three brothers looked at each other then, in a co-ordinated assault that he'd take pride in at any other time, they doused him with cranberry sauce.

A blob of sauce hung, shivering, on Scott's glasses. He pretended to glare at them. "I bet you think this was worth it."

"You have no idea," said Remy, massaging cranberry sauce into Scott's scalp.

Xavier's voice came through the speakers. "I'm sorry to interrupt but I've had a call from Emma Frost of Washington Academy. She found--" His voice faded uncertainly. "She said she found Jean just off the Port of Anacortes. Alive."

A knife clattered to the floor. Scott belatedly realised that it was his. He should wipe that quickly before the stain set on the antique rug; but no, this was all fake, he didn't have to clean anything up. What a relief.

Jean?

Remy spoke, his words strong. "Be right out, professor. Thanks for the heads up."

Without being told, Adam and Alex started putting everything away. Remy stayed seated, reaching to his right to lay a hand on Scott's shoulder. Scott looked at the hand, then stared beyond it to Alex and Adam who were still quietly stacking dishes. He turned so his entire body around to address them all. They stopped and faced him; Remy straightened out of his slouch. Inexplicably, the lump in his throat melted away to half its size.

"Guys," he said, "I'm going to need your help with this."

His brothers beamed.

-- fin --


	65. Author's Notes

I had so much fun with the friendship between movieverse Remy and Scott in Prodigals that I hitched it up a notch. Of course, you can't say "Summers brothers" without bringing Alex/Havok along. By the time I starting sketching out the relationships between those three, Adam-X/the X-treme threw himself into the plot and wouldn't let go.

Thus, "Elemental"

The novel tie-in to X1 first presented Scott Summers having some girl-trouble at prom (Incidentally, the novel also spells this section "prolog" which makes me twitch as much as the word "tyre). Nothing about being orphaned or living in the streets. Of course, it didn't say anything about brothers either and pretty much lambasted the Jean-Scott age difference with "1986" printed clearly before the prom scene, but I claim my right as a fanficcer to pick and choose details. ;)

"Elemental" begins early in the summer of 2005 (thanks for the tip about Senate hearings, Minisinoo!), three months after Jean Grey's death ((cough)). I've chosen to ignore Hurricane Katrina, not because I want to forget it happen, but because I feel it's too soon to write about it. I will admit to thinking "Oh! Plot point!" but mashed the temptation down. Also, I would like to emphasize that the portrayal of Christopher Summers is not meant to represent all those who work for the air force/military/navy.

Much thanks to my betas, E and fyrechilde, as well as everyone who said that writing a Big Story With Premeditated Plot isn't as scary as it sounded. Another ten frillion thanks to all the readers who've hung on this long. Here's to finally getting sleep! Maybe...


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